


Empress of Fire

by corvusam



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Backstory, Canon Continuation, Canon Universe, Gen, Mental Instability, Minor Canonical Character(s), Minor Original Character(s), Multi Chapter, Mòrag-centric, Post-Canon, Post-Game(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rebellion, Spoilers, Starvation, Violence, War, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2020-01-16 07:31:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 133,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18516811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvusam/pseuds/corvusam
Summary: [Mòrag-centric] Two years after Alrest's immigration to Elysium, the queen of Uraya passes away. Her bloodthirsty nephew takes the throne and is eager to wage war with Mor Ardain once again. After outbreaks of rebel forces within his own army, Niall enforces Mòrag to apprehend both them and the king's violent loyalists. She is forced to call upon her teammates to assist her in the arising war, for fear they destroy their new home.





	1. Conniving Little Soldiers

**Author's Note:**

> i havent written or posted a fanfic in years i did my best ashdgfhjgh... im aiming for around 25-30 chapters for this, because my girl morag deserves more attention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After receiving more threats from Uraya, Mòrag considers her options while her soldiers scheme.

The entire Kingdom of Uraya trembled as their new ruler ascended the stairs.

He was dressed in a robe of cream and white, decorated with orange gems much like the monarch before him. He was a sore sight, his stocky form towering over all at his level. The typical Urayan scales mottled his face and down his neck like a serpent. He had the eyes to match, as well.

“The court are out of their minds,” someone whispered.

“It won’t be long until a war is waged.”

A wicked man, full of bloodlust and hunger for conflict. As Raqura had no children, her only nephew was to take the throne, despite the court knowing what kind of person he was.

The ceremony was grand, of course. Every Urayan citizen had gathered to watch the king being formally crowned. Heads low, they looked on as he reached the top of the castle’s staircase and bowed to receive what he believed he was owed. A knowing smirk was plastered on his face. He had plans, and everybody knew it. He _wanted_ them to know. He was a man of action, according to his own words.

The crown of gold leaves was placed upon his head at last. He straightened himself to his full height and turned towards his kingdom.

Indeed, Elysium was a blessing to them, and it was an entire continent waiting to be conquered.

* * *

 "Really? Yet _more_ demands?”

Emperor Niall frowned as he once again read over the trade requests. The pages were crumpled in his tight grip. A sure sign of stress.

“I can’t believe it. This is the third time this month.”

Mòrag stood opposite him. Hands clasped behind her back, she hid her worry behind her stony expression. The Emperor’s mood grew worse by the day, his life becoming more joyless with each report he received. There was not much Mòrag could do for him except discuss the best way to deal with the endless requests.

“I apologise, Your Majesty,” she said. “We are trying our best to keep our relationship with Uraya as stable as possible.”

Niall sighed and dropped the papers onto a nearby table. The young man paced a few steps away, eyes tightly shut to block out the mess of a world around him. “Don’t apologise. You would think they would be content with all this new land to live on.”

“Indeed. Queen Raqura would not have stood for this.”

“Her passing affected her nation greatly,” replied Niall. He became still for a moment. Despite his tense relations with the queen in the past, even he was shocked at the news. It had shocked everyone.

The Special Inquisitor thought for a moment. Only months ago, Queen Raqura of Uraya had been declared dead seemingly out of the blue. A sudden illness, perhaps, but the Urayan monarchy were quiet about the details. Apparently there was nothing anyone could do for her. Mòrag remembered seeing the same headline in the papers for weeks. The news had spread quickly, far across the vast lands of Elysium. The only positive thing that was said was that she at least got to see Elysium for herself in time.

However, her passing was not the worst news. That could be credited to the man that had taken her place. Mòrag was sure she had seen him at some point, in one of their many political meetings, ranting and raving about war and weaponry like that was all he was capable of thinking about. The personification of savagery and brutality in one.

King Graull. A warmonger, in simple terms. He had always been very persistent in pushing the past war between them, desperate for battle. A week after being crowned, he had cackled, promising Mor Ardain that Uraya was far from finished with them. It was a statement that he was keen to enforce, Mòrag thought bitterly as her gaze slid back to the growing pile of material demands on paper.

“What… what do you think I should do?” Niall’s voice was meek and quiet. He was close to adult age now, a healthy 17, but he seemed so fragile. His eyes were glued to the floor, body frozen. “We have plenty of the ore Uraya wants, but I’m afraid these demands will become worse. What happens when we have nothing left to give? Will they wage war once again?”

“I am unsure, sire,” Mòrag said after a moment. “I will fetch your advisers for you to settle the matter, if you wish.”

Her brother nodded silently. Just as Mòrag was about to leave, papers in hand, Niall spoke once more.

“I don’t want another war, Mòrag. I won’t be able to cope.”

No, no one did. A war would be disastrous. Nobody wanted to tarnish Elysium with yet more blood and violence. Nobody except for Graull. Mòrag felt the urge to hug her younger brother, just for a moment, but shook off the thought. The difference in their positions was still too great.

Instead, she bowed her head respectfully. “There won’t be, Majesty.”

A shaky sigh left her lips once she exited the throne room. She scanned the papers in her hand once more, glowering at the sheer audacity in the words. As Niall had said previously, she was shocked that anyone, even someone like Graull, could spend their time on such petty actions instead of simply enjoying Elysium for what it was.

It had already been two years.

Alrest had shed tears of joy at the sight of their new land. It stretched on forever, with lush green fields, abundant forests, mountains that touched the sky, crystal lakes and rivers, and the tranquility of such a wonderful place was enough to make anyone emotional. It was hard to believe how tiny their titans were in comparison to such a large piece of landmass. They could fit a hundred Alrests within it, or perhaps even more. Yes, Elysium was truly spectacular, even now after two years had quickly passed.

Mor Ardain, in particular, were keen to move in. Due to the battering it had received under the World Tree, their titan had crumbled into dust shortly afterwards. It hardly gave them enough time to move their most important technology and supplies onto the mainland. They’d fortunately had enough to begin building their new empire, and build they did.

Claiming the fertile lands to the west, they had immediately begun the construction of the new Alba Cavanich. The town had grown tremendously in such a short amount of time, and while they could no longer make use of the steam and heat of their old titan, they’d found an abundance of oil, ore and metals within the earth. New technology was being designed every day. Food was plentiful, and they were even in the midst of a baby boom at present.

The other countries had settled peacefully around them. The Gormotti had taken residence in the enormous forests to the south. Tantal had retreated farther north to make use of the mountains to nestle into and Leftheria were happy to remain close to their home titan islands.

Uraya had not been as simple.

They had set up their kingdom to the east of Elysium where their titan had joined, dangerously close to the marked borders of Neo-Mor Ardain. The east was much like their home titan, covered in a thick jungle, lakes and marshlands. It seemed like most of Alrest were more comfortable taking residence in areas similar to their old homes. While the majority were happy doing that, Uraya had not let up their old ways.

Being the kind boy that he was, Niall had been as friendly and agreeable as he possibly could. Raqura had been nicer than she was in the past, but it had taken a long time to establish the country’s new borders. Mòrag was certain the two countries had similar landmass, yet it seemed Graull was less than pleased.

It was infuriating. Why, _why_ couldn’t they just be satisfied? After everything they had been through in Alrest, with Bana trying to assassinate their leaders, fighting on Temperantia, and Architect knew what else.

The reports were simple. Neo-Uraya wanted a certain amount of various ores so far only found in Neo-Mor Ardain in exchange for continued peace. It was ridiculous, really.

Once the two countries had become familiar with their new territory, trading routes had been set up quickly. Ore from the fierce rocky mountains of the west for the marshland crops and fodder of the east. As time passed, they had found more and more things to trade for and it seemed like King Graull was keen to take advantage of that.

It was too complex a situation to be thinking of. Mòrag’s mouth was pressed into a hard line by the time she exited the elevator and made her way down the growing hallways of the new palace. Plenty of it was still under construction, but at least the main parts had been built.

A familiar face swam into view. Mòrag perked up at the sight of glowing blue hair, happy to see Brighid on her way to see her.

“Lady Mòrag,” greeted Brighid with a nod. She stopped once she saw Mòrag’s expression. “You’re frowning again.”

“Well, yes. There have been more supply demands from Uraya. Or rather, Neo-Uraya.” Mòrag held the papers out for Brighid to view.

It was now the blade’s turn to frown. “Again?”

She spent a moment scanning her lidded eyes over the words. A massive list containing Deep Fellstone, Pione Stone, Rainbow Crystals, and just about every other ore that was confirmed to grow within Neo-Mor Ardain’s territory. Graull had initially claimed it was for housing and machinery material, but everyone had suspicions it was for neither. Weaponry seemed far more likely.

“His Majesty is unsure of the next course of action to take.”

“Perhaps we could involve other countries?” Brighid suggested as she fell into pace alongside her driver.

“This soon?” said Mòrag. “The Gormotti want nothing to do with us, the Leftherians are too small in number and Tantal are content with their secluded lifestyle. I fear this is an issue we will have to deal with ourselves.”

The two women discussed quietly among themselves as they walked down the palace’s hallways. There were still many painters and decorators lingering, struggling to hang framed artworks and statues. Mòrag gave them a quick nod before turning back to Brighid.

“What I was meaning to say, is that the Urayan King is so volatile we are reluctant to involve other countries. We simply don’t want to upset him with conflict.”

“I understand,” Brighid exclaimed. “He does seem like a difficult man to deal with.”

Oh, she had _no_ idea.

They eventually came to the palace state room. Within it were two of the emperor’s royal advisors, and two military captains. They stood and bowed when Mòrag entered the room.

The Special Inquisitor immediately addressed the royal advisors. Handing them the papers, she wasted no time in instructing them to read them over and discuss resolutions with the emperor.

“His Majesty needs advice and information at once. Find a way to deal with Uraya in the most peaceful way possible.”

They were quick to respond, as they should be. Mòrag and Brighid stepped aside for them as they left, heading straight for the elevator to the throne room. That left them alone with the remaining military captains. One was lounging on a sofa while the other was leaning against the wall, observing the situation.

“Have there been more demands from Uraya, Lady Mòrag?”

Mòrag slid her eyes over to the one that had spoken. A tall man, with dark hair and darker eyes. There was a glint in his eye as it seemed he already knew the answer to his own question. Ah, he was no captain after all.

“That is correct, Commander Raghnall,” Mòrag responded bluntly. “It is simply more requests for ore.”

Raghnall held a finger to his chin in thought. “Does the emperor finally have an appropriate response this time? Uraya will only continue to get worse if he lets this slide again.”

Her eyebrow twitched. Mòrag had had this conversion far too many times with this man.

Raghnall was a competent commander, no doubt. Both an excellent driver and strategist, he was partially responsible for keeping the Ardainian army so well composed. In most cases, Mòrag held nothing but respect for him, but ever since Graull had become king, she noticed an unusual stirring in him. Could it be unrest? Unease? That was normal for everyone in the army, but there was something about his recent attitude that unnerved her.

Perhaps it was because he seemed so eager to take action.

She cleared her throat. “He will be discussing it with his advisors. If the army is needed, then you will be notified, of course.”

The man standing behind Raghnall stifled a laugh and took a step forward. Both women turned to glare at him.

“A war is what’s needed,” he barked. “Those Urayan dogs will never let up unless we put them in their place. We have the room for sizeable battlefields now. We’re more than guaranteed to win.”

“Steaphan, that is not your decision to make,” Mòrag snapped back.

He slunk back into his seat. One of Raghnall’s top men, an army captain and another well-trained driver. Far too much of the military had been discussing war recently, Steaphan being the ring leader. Mòrag was baffled as to why they were not simply content with their new lives.

“Forgive me, Special Inquisitor,” Steaphan said as he tried to gain back her approval. “I am just concerned for Mor Ardain’s state of being.”

“We _all_ are,” Brighid cut in, “but this doesn’t call for a war.”

This was too frustrating. Mòrag pinched the bridge of her nose and turned on her heel. “Forget this. I need some air.”

Brighid followed her closely as she left. It did not take long to reach the outside of the palace, seeing as it was still rather small compared to what it should be.

They’d cleared out Hardhaigh long ago. It had been one of their first priorities once they realised their titan wouldn’t last much longer. Every bit of furniture and cloth had been retrieved, but the actual palace itself had unfortunately collapsed into the ocean along with the titan itself. It had been sad for them, really. Both Mòrag and Niall had spent their entire lives there, along with every royal ancestor before them. They had watched it slowly crumble into pieces together.

They hadn’t bothered renaming their new capital either. Mòrag forced her mind to clear as she peered over the enormous balconies at the town below them. The market was bustling as always, full to the brim with crops that their titan would have never been able to grow. Children ran about freely alongside their pregnant mothers and content fathers. The weather was far more tolerable too, the sky clear of steam, pollution and dust. Mòrag removed her hat to allow the cool breeze to blow through her hair.

Her blade had remained silent for a while before attempting to speak. “Lady Mòrag?”

“My apologies, Brighid,” Mòrag responded. She kept her gaze low. “I’m just… stressed.”

“Of course, that is to be expected,” Brighid said sympathetically.

“I simply cannot process any of this. Why would anyone desire another war, especially after what happened on Temperantia? Or the Indoline Praetorium? Elysium was meant to be an _end_ to all of that.”

She thought about the disasters two years ago. So many lives had been lost. Mor Ardain had helped in assisting some the remaining Indoline survivors and most were taking residence in Neo-Mor Ardain as of now, but the number of people that had died was staggering. Mòrag could only be thankful for the ones that were left.

Yet, if their relationship with Uraya was to become worse, who was to say that there would be no more casualties?

“I suggest, Lady Mòrag,” Brighid spoke, snapping her out of her thoughts, “we focus on securing our borders for now. If there are more stations built, then it would be easier to defend ourselves should we be attacked.”

Mòrag hummed at the suggestion. It wasn’t a bad idea. Since their new land was so enormous, it was far too easy to come in and out without detection. However, Mor Ardain had lost their titan. Uraya still had theirs, along with all of their old buildings, supplies and weaponry.

“We’d have to ration out our resources,” Mòrag countered.

“There is always Tantal. I’m sure it would be safe enough to contact Zeke and have him lend us a hand.”

She thought about it. Zeke wasn’t exactly the problem. He would be more than willing to help out. He hadn’t seen them in a while, after all, and the man would always get so nostalgic. Mòrag was just worried about how the king would react. He had not changed much, keeping him and his kingdom to themselves after Alrest had settled. They had quickly run from Genbu’s freezing climate and were now dwelling happily on their own in the north, and Mòrag was not sure they would like to be disturbed for more political issues to discuss.

“Well… I suppose I could ask Zeke his opinion, at least. Whether or not anything will arise out of it is dependant on the king’s attitude. I can’t make any promises,” Mòrag spoke after a moment. She stepped away from the balcony and placed her hat back on her head, allowing the visor to shade her eyes.

Brighid smiled warmly. “I’m sure seeing a friendly face would do you good.”

That was true enough. Mòrag had had enough of hostile forces to last her a lifetime. She stretched out her arms until her knuckles cracked, savouring the last few minutes of her break.

“I’ll discuss it with His Majesty tomorrow. He has enough on his plate at present. If he agrees, then I’ll send Zeke a letter immediately.”

“Who knows, perhaps Rex and the Aegis would be willing to assist us too,” Brighid said as she followed her.

Mòrag scoffed. “Architect, no. King Graull would see that as a threat, no doubt. Not to mention I’m sure Rex has had enough of our legal affairs. Let him enjoy his last years of childhood while he can.”

* * *

 

“Ladair is getting as soft as the emperor,” snarled Steaphan as he paced the state room.

The military commander, Raghnall, stood by the window and gazed out of it as his comrade stomped around angrily. He had been quiet since Mòrag and her blade had left, brooding on her statements. So, Uraya had been back at it again with their demands and requests, and still Niall refused to take any action other than comply?

He felt anger burn within him, but he kept himself silent. He was old enough to do so by now.

Steaphan was younger and far more immature. There was a scowl on his face, his hands twitching and his teeth grinding. “This is ridiculous. Uraya are going to push their way in by force if they don’t do anything. They’ll take _everything_ we have.”

“I doubt the emperor will declare a war,” Raghnall finally said. Steaphan stopped to look at him. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to take things into our own hands.”

“You mean… the resistance?”

“Of course.”

The two men looked at each other. Steaphan had his eyebrow raised, and his scowl had disappeared in favour of an expression of intrigument. Raghnall quietly came away from the window and took a seat.

“Have you forgotten how big Elysium is, Steaphan?” he asked, crossing his legs and shutting his eyes.

“What d’you mean?”

The commander sighed. “Well, think about it. Do you honestly think the emperor would notice if we took down some Urayan soldiers at the country’s border? They haven’t marked the entire edge yet. It would hardly be a challenge.” He then opened his eyes and looked towards the ceiling. “We’ve been building this group for months. Half of the army _want_ this.”

Steaphan folded his arms and grinned at Raghnall’s suggestion. “Are you really implying we act on our own accord, Raghnall? Don’t you remember what happened to Dughall and Roderich?”

It had been a long time ago, but Dughall had been stripped of his rank of bureaucrat and dismissed from the army. Roderich, the senator who had made a deal with the Indoline Praetorium behind the emperor’s back had also been dishonourably discharged.

Nobody knew where either man had went.

“Those two worked on their own,” Raghnall said knowingly. “We are not alone. Do you think the rest of the army would be able to function with half of its soldiers rebelling? Our goal would be simple. Take our group to the outskirts of Neo-Mor Ardain, dispose of any Urayan scum that dare to wander too close, and we’ll slowly chip away at the Urayan army without them even noticing. If the emperor won’t do anything about this, then _I_ have no problem stepping up to take charge.”

The captain took in Raghnall’s words. Steaphan was all too aware of how big their secret resistance had grown. He’d heard half of the cafeteria mutter about it at lunch, squads complaining to themselves during patrols or on guard duty, and just about anywhere. The tension between them and Uraya had never faded, despite Elysium being quite the distraction.

But actually going out and taking action? That was something big. Something the army had never done before. Still, Steaphan nodded in approval.

“I like the sound of it. Do we have a plan?” he asked.

Raghnall straightened in his seat. “What I’ve just discussed, and make _sure_ Ladair doesn’t suspect us if anything goes wrong.”

* * *

 


	2. Empiricism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mòrag and Zeke patrol along Neo-Mor Ardain's borders only to find something unexpected.

 

A week passed, and Niall had only been too supportive of Brighid’s suggestion.

Tired and frustrated with dealing with his advisors, Niall’s face had perked up when Mòrag had passed on the idea. He had surprisingly become good friends with Zeke once they had settled two years ago and shared stories, while the Tantal king was forced to be more sociable. The emperor had simply _loved_ Zeke and his taste for… flair.

Both Mòrag and her blade had set out as soon as Zeke had responded to their message. His writing was hasty and messy, giving them a hard time in deciphering it. It was enthusiastic, at least. Mòrag lost count of the sheer amount of ‘chums’ he’d included.

They sat on board their titan airship. Brighid peered out of the window, chin resting on her hand.

Without the cloud sea, most smaller or wandering titans had retreated far into the liquid ocean. It was somewhat refreshing to not have to rely on them so much, but Elysium was so large that they still had to use their titan airships. Technology better suited for the new environment was being expanded upon by the second, and land vehicles were already far into development. Ether still seemed to be a core function in Elysium’s design, running in thousands of veins within its soil. Thankfully they could continue to make use of it.

Taking her eyes away from the green landscape below them, Brighid turned back to Mòrag.

“Where are we planning on meeting Zeke?” she asked.

“Once we reach Neo-Mor Ardain’s borders, we’ll have to travel to Leth Slighe on foot. Zeke has said he’ll be waiting there at camp.”

“I see.” Brighid nodded.

Mòrag leaned back in her seat, mulling over the plan in her head. “We are to return to the borders and make our way around the border’s edge, where our stations have been set up. Rations and weaponry have already been supplied.”

“And what is our role in this?”

“We are patrolling. There have been reports of Urayan soldiers lurking nearby, so we will make sure the boundaries are set for them.”

The blade nodded. She had wondered why they were going all this way just to build stations when their soldiers could easily accomplish such a task alone. However, dealing with Urayan soldiers at such a sensitive time was far more suited for Mòrag. She had a silver tongue, equipped with the right words at the right time. It was rare that she couldn’t solve a matter with a discussion.

“Do you think Graull is sending them to keep an eye on us?” Brighid said after a moment.

“I assume so.” Morag sighed. “We can’t risk them crossing over.”

An hour or so later, the titan juddered to a halt. Mòrag and Brighid stepped out into a heavily wooded area, their capital now a misty figure in the distance.

Leth Slighe was mostly unexplored, being a large forest and crevice nestled in between Neo-Mor Ardain and Neo-Tantal. It was such a wild environment that they hadn’t had much time to investigate outside of building their countries, so Mòrag kept her guard up. The amount of wild animals and bandits that could be skulking around was high. Brighid kept close to her, small embers flickering along her arms and from her hair. The soldiers at the ship saluted as the women made their way into the uncharted woods.

The camp was straight ahead. That was something Mòrag had made sure of. It was quite far away from Neo-Tantal’s borders, but Zeke had insisted he didn’t mind the distance. His relationship with his father had smoothened considerably as of late, yet travelling was something Zeke was too used to by now.

He and Pandoria were stretching in the campground when Mòrag and Brighid eventually arrived. He still looked hardly different since when Mòrag had last seen him. She didn’t know why she was surprised, exactly. Perhaps she was just used to the concept of both Niall and Rex gaining at least a foot in height in the past two years.

“Mòrag!” Zeke called when he saw her. He jumped to his feet and made his way over. “Long time no see.”

“Yes, it is good to see you too, Z— urk!”

She was cut off into letting out an unflattering squeak when he wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off the ground. An embarrassed blush spread across her face when both Brighid and Pandoria laughed. She squirmed until Zeke set her back down, grinning.

“Don’t look so flustered. We haven’t seen each other in months. A year, almost.”

“Well, this is a serious matter,” Mòrag murmured as she straightened her uniform.

The prince folded his arms, but he still held his amused expression. “Oh? I thought we were just doing a patrol because Uraya are getting a bit funny. What’s so important?”

Mòrag shifted her weight to her other leg. She hadn’t exactly told him everything in her letter. Of course, she had explained exactly what they were doing, but she hadn’t explained how dire the situation was. Nobody knew how aggressive Uraya was getting towards them, only the Ardainian higher ups themselves. While Mòrag knew Zeke had a low opinion of King Graull, he had no idea just how bad he could get.

She decided to brush off the conversation until they began their patrol. The camp was full of Ardainian soldiers, preparing themselves to swap shifts with their colleagues. The smell of tinned food and the sight of tents briefly brought Mòrag back to when she was a trainee.

She shuddered. She wouldn’t trade her position as Special Inquisitor for being underestimated and belittled as a private for anything.

“C’mon, don’t leave us hanging. Tell us the details!” Pandoria said as she bounded alongside her.

They had quickly set out on their route once they had double checked their maps. The forest was no less thick than it was at its centre, but at least it was daytime.

The pair of drivers had been wise to send out more of their blades to do their own patrolling. Zeke had brought Azami and Agate, while Mòrag had sent Dagas and Aegaeon to carry out their missions further east. Even if none of them found anything to report, they would be decently protected. Their teams had been planned well.

“Pandy’s quite right. Out with it,” said Zeke.

Mòrag swallowed thickly. “Well, King Graull...”

Both Zeke and Pandoria winced.

“ _Architect_ ,” Zeke drawled. “Not _him_.”

Of course. Zeke was a prince. He’d had to endure Graull during international meetings with his father. Mòrag could definitely understand that. Since Graull had been crowned, she’d received plenty of letters from Zeke complaining entirely about him.

“He has been quite… aggressive in his trading demands as of late. We are simply checking the borders in case he decides to send his soldiers in.”

“Wait, seriously?” Zeke jogged forward so that he was on Mòrag’s left. “I thought you guys had something all sorted out. Y’know, plans already made by Raqura. Wasn’t there a treaty, an alliance?”

The Special Inquisitor kept her eyes scanning the area carefully, even as the troubling thoughts of current events clouded her mind. So far, there was nothing but trees. She could feel both Zeke and Pandoria’s worried gazes burn into her like lasers.

“It’s been going on for months,” Mòrag said after a moment. “The demands vary, but they’re becoming constant. The emperor doesn’t have a solution as of yet, so for the moment we decided to up our defenses at the border.”

“Don’t tell me Graull’s threatening war, Mòrag,” Zeke muttered lowly. All of his playfulness had vanished as Mòrag spoke the last words of her sentence. His visible eye was narrowed, and he’d forced the group to come to a stop.

Well, Graull hadn’t _verbally_ mentioned a war, except his actions said otherwise. Mòrag sighed inwardly as she thought of the hostile wording of his letters, how he snarled and ranted during meetings and the glint in his eye whenever battle was mentioned.

It seemed her silence was enough of an answer. Zeke ran a hand through his hair and turned his head away.

“You can’t be serious. We’ve… we’ve only _just_ moved to Elysium.”

“I know,” Mòrag said quietly.

“Why would King Graull want a war?” Pandoria yelled. The blade had scrunched her face up in confused anger. “You guys solved your differences, right?”

“It seems he has very different opinions than his aunt did,” Brighid cut in. She had been so quiet that Mòrag had forgot she was even there. In times like these, she could only thank Brighid for how cool-headed she could be. Mòrag didn’t usually have a problem with staying rational, but the threat of a war was messing with her mind. She just… she just couldn’t _think_ properly.

She had spent weeks trying to think about Graull’s reasoning. Was he simply immature? That couldn’t have been true, he was raised to be intelligent. Did he not know how to rule? That wasn’t true either, he had been in Urayan politics for far too long to be ignorant.

No, there was no other explanation for his ill will except for who he was as a person. His only motivator seemed to be bloodlust. The need for _violence_.

Architect, it was like Malos all over again.

“And Emperor Niall really doesn’t know what to do?” asked Zeke.

Mòrag shook her head. Brighid folded her arms and looked skyward.

“We seem to be truly at a loss. There are no other provinces capable of assisting, except maybe Tantal. However, we are unsure if that would make Graull more aggressive,” the blade explained.

“I mean, I could ask dad _his_ opinion, but I doubt he’ll want to do anything. You know what he’s like,” replied Zeke.

She had predicted as much. As Brighid mulled over the possibility of Tantal becoming involved, Mòrag turned her head away. Even if Zeke managed to persuade his father to lend them a hand, Tantal did not have exactly the most impressive military. Why would they, when they had been isolated in their submerged titan for so long? They had their fair share of castle guards, and since the move to Elysium, they had been steadily recruiting more armed forces to protect their new land, but it wouldn’t be enough. Uraya had had human battering rams on their side for too long. They and Mor Ardain were the strongest militaries in Alrest, and now that Mor Ardain had lost their titan and much of their old resources, they were at a disadvantage. From what Mòrag knew, Uraya’s titan had slowly began merging completely with Neo-Uraya over time. They had all their new room _plus_ that.

No, bringing Tantal into this would not help. If anything, it would make things worse.

The Special Inquisitor blew out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding. She had long drowned out the sounds of the discussion around her, but that was when she noticed something odd not too far away.

Specks of red liquid and pieces of armour peeked through the dense foliage.

Signs of battle.

“Hold on,” Mòrag commanded, holding out her arm to silence them. She immediately made her way forwards, the other three running after her.

“What is it?” Zeke shouted, bewildered.

Mòrag remained silent until she reached her destination. The bushes rustled, and they could hear growling and claws scraping the earth. The amount of blood drastically increased until it was soaked into the dirt beneath them. She had to hold in a gasp at the carnage before her.

There was a small clearing, with some abandoned tents set up nearby. They were torn to shreds and the bodies of their inhabitants were strewn across the ground. A group of four or five Feris were chewing on the armour-clad limbs.

They leapt up at the sight of the group before them. Baring their fangs, one made a beeline for Mòrag.

She swore under her breath as she lashed her whipswords forwards. Brighid was immediately on her case, unleashing her blue flames along the sword’s edges and filling the air with crackling synergised energy. The Feris leapt back, surprised.

“Whoa!” Zeke cried out as one crept around and went for his arm. He took a little longer getting his broadsword out due to its size, but the Feris went down as soon as he brought it over its head. Purple electricity raced across the beast’s fur relentlessly as it collapsed to the ground.

Despite being ferocious, they’d become an easy enemy over time, after having dealt with Malos and Indol’s many threats. It took the drivers only two or so minutes to dispose of them.

They panted among the beasts’ bodies. Mòrag brought up an arm to wipe away blood from her cheek.

“Disgusting animals,” Zeke snarled, stabbing his sword into the ground. “They’ve been breeding like crazy out here.”

True, it had not only been humans that were happily pregnant. Species of all sorts and gone and multiplied by the dozen since their immigration to Elysium. That meant good news for the environment, but by the Architect, it was irritating.

The beasts dead, they now had time to survey the horrors that had initially brought them here. The bodies the Feris had been gnawing on didn’t seem to be fresh. They smelled putrid and their armour was rusting over already.

Mòrag had expected them to be civilians, or perhaps bandits, but they were neither.

These were Urayan soldiers.

Once Zeke processed who they were exactly, he spluttered on his words. “What the hell is all this?” he burst out. His eye widened at the scene, struggling to process what he was seeing. “Wh… Uraya really _were_ here?”

“This was no battle,” breathed Brighid, holding a hand to her face in shock. “This was brutal violence.”

The group hesitantly crept forward. The clearing was long deserted, besides from the recent Feris. Upon further inspection, Mòrag was right in that these bodies were not new. They’d been here at least a few days.

The massacre was… deliberately shocking. There were twelve mutilated soldiers in total. Their blades were nowhere to be seen. Despite the Urayans being covered by their ridiculous bulky armour, their wounds were deep and savagely inflicted. Now, in most cases, they would have blamed a monster, or even that the Feris had killed them and had returned to feast at a later date, but these were no animal attacks. Knives and guns were strewn out in the mud.

“ _Who_ could have done this?” Mòrag croaked out. Her voice had been reduced to a mere whisper.

She eventually composed herself to nod to Brighid. Her blade’s Keen Eye ability came in most handy in situations like these. Cracking her sapphire eyes open just the slightest, Brighid’s core lit up as she observed the area.

The other three were tense as they waited. Pandoria hadn’t said a word since she arrived, too busy clinging onto Zeke. The prince looked as if he still couldn’t believe his eyes.

Mòrag couldn’t blame him. This was the last thing she had expected to see on their patrol. Perhaps one or two stray bandits, or one _alive_ Urayan soldier at the most, but not this.

“There,” said Brighid, bringing them back to reality. Mòrag followed her to the centre of the clearing.

At first, there didn’t seem to be much of interest. There were some abandoned daggers, scraps of uniform and… hold on, what was this?

A piece of metal glinted in the afternoon sun. Mòrag knelt down to pick it up, wiping away the mud with the tips of her gloved fingers. It stained them, and she didn’t care. She was too in shock at the object in her hand.

A golden badge, carved into the shape of spread wings. It was the same as the one Mòrag wore on her hat and the one Niall had decorating his collar.

The _Ardainian_ military symbol.

“Uh, isn’t that from… _your_ army?” asked Zeke.

“There’s no mistaking it,” said Brighid.

“Gee, Mòrag,” Zeke scoffed as he crossed his arms, a frown on his face. “Did one of your commanders tell your troops to do this?”

Mòrag grit her teeth at his accusation, clutching the badge tightly in her fist. “Of course not! As far as I know, there have been _no_ orders to attack Urayan soldiers!”

She had to double check. The badge in her hand was definitely Ardainian, but maybe it was a coincidence? Perhaps it had just been dropped by one of their patrols recently. Mòrag knew that was hardly likely, but she held out onto that hope as she went to examine the discarded weapons. That hope quickly died when she picked up a broken rifle gun. It was of Ardainian make, clear as day.

There were more pieces of armour hidden in the nearby bushes. Pandoria picked up an Ardainian helmet, full of water from the recent rains. Brighid’s Keen Eye kept finding more and more scraps of uniform amongst the Urayan carnage, and the theory became certain.

Ardainian forces had been behind this, but who?

Mòrag furrowed her eyebrows as she racked her mind for any memories. She knew for sure Niall had nothing to do with this. He was always the one to vote against violence. Mòrag knew she hadn’t sent anyone herself, and none of her subordinates had been given orders to.

She didn’t want to think about the only possible answer, but she had to.

Someone in the military had acted on their own accord.

In all honesty, Mòrag didn’t know why she was so shocked. As she had heard two of her subordinates discussing war like it was necessary only last week, and she was aware that half of the soldiers had the same idea. It could have been any one of them. Though, considering the amount of Urayans they had slain, it seemed more likely to have been a sizeable group.

“Rebel soldiers,” she breathed almost under her breath.

“...So, what do we do?” Zeke piped up after he deemed it safe to speak, Mòrag’s frustration heavy among them. “Do we just leave them here?”

“Well, obviously not,” replied Brighid.

“Normally, we’d send a report to the Urayan military, however… with Graull as he is, I’m unsure of what action to take. This could trigger a war.”

“Why don’t we blame it on bandits? Or the Feris?” Pandoria suggested.

Mòrag considered it. “I’ll… discuss it with His Majesty. Let’s collect the Ardainian weaponry and report back.”

She felt dirty for not making a decision. Mòrag couldn’t believe herself. She knew being truthful to Uraya was the lawful thing to do, but Graull terrified her. He was a ticking time bomb that could go off at the slightest irritation, and she was certain that an ambush like this on his soldiers would make him blow up. For now… telling him the truth was too much of a risk.

They hurriedly gathered all of the Ardainian weaponry. There wasn’t much, though Zeke held onto the one rifle from earlier, and Mòrag picked up at least three knives embedded in the bodies. Pandoria gathered the helmet and loose scraps of armour.

Mòrag tried to convince herself this was the right thing to do. Everyone else looked sceptical about it, and she couldn’t blame them. Perhaps she could be more truthful with Uraya at a later date, but the risk of war scared her too much. She’d had enough of it in her lifetime.

Aegaeon, Azami, Dagas and Agate had fortunately reported back with nothing of interest. Of course, they were shocked when the group told them of their findings.

Dagas was snarky as usual about the situation. He shot Mòrag a grin when nobody was looking, saying, “Covering for your criminals, now, are you? I can’t _wait_ to see how this turns out.”

“I’m aware that morally this is dubious, but, _Uraya_ —”

“Yes, yes, they’re a big scary country. Just don’t come crying to me when it all falls flat,” Dagas had laughed.

The Special Inquisitor forced down any feelings of guilt as they made their way back to the campground they had started at. They noticed less soldiers present, presumably in the middle of their shifts. Mòrag cleared her throat and made her way to the nearest captain.

He jolted up straight and saluted her. “Special Inquisitor.”

She nodded, trying to hide her trembling hands behind her back. “Captain. We have... something dire to report.”

She watched as the captain’s composure fell as they explained themselves and surveyed the rusty equipment. They made sure to tell him the truth, that Ardainian rebel forces were about, but to keep it a secret from Uraya for the moment, in case of Graull not taking it well. Thankfully, the captain seemed to agree.

“We will send word to the empire at once, ma’am,” he said.

A squad was sent out to further investigate, and the equipment was taken away to be stored for further examination. Mòrag kept a tight grip on the badge, however.

Zeke and Pandoria dramatically threw themselves onto a nearby bench in sync. The prince held his arm across his face and sighed.

“Well, I certainly didn’t expect _this_ when I woke up.”

“I’m drained,” said Pandoria.

Brighid, who had been silent for a while, turned to her driver. “Should we return to Alba Cavanich, Lady Mòrag?”

“That would probably be best,” Mòrag replied.

“Wait, hold on,” Zeke yelled loudly as he shot up. “You’re leaving already? We’ve hardly been here three hours!”

Of course he’d put up a fuss. Zeke was still Zeke, no matter what was going on around him. Mòrag turned to him solemnly.

“This is a crisis, Zeke. We greatly appreciate your support, but we can’t stay here all day. I _have_ to take care of this.”

The man frowned and crossed his arms as Pandoria stood next to him, pouting. “Fine, then we’ll come with you.”

She almost rolled her eyes. “Why in the world would you want to do that?”

He had a knowing smile on his face. Not exactly one of amusement, because at least Zeke knew when he had to be somewhat serious.

“Four heads are better than two, yes? Pandy and I can help you. It’s not like we’re bringing the entirety of Tantal into this, either. I’ll be joining you as Zeke _only_. It’ll be just like the good old days. Think about all the mysteries we solved back in Alrest. This is just another one. It’s nothing the Zekenator can’t handle, of course.”

Thinking about it, Mòrag frowned. It wasn’t as if Zeke was wrong, they _did_ work well as a team. Then again, there had been ten of them back then, including Rex and the Aegis. As powerful as both Mòrag and Zeke were, the Aegis was something they couldn’t compare to then. Though Mòrag supposed this wasn’t a battle of fists just yet. They _could_ do with more thinking power.

So she turned to her blade. Brighid tilted her head.

“I think having them on our side would be beneficial,” she said.

The prince grinned when Mòrag admitted defeat. “Very well, though for now, _please_ just stand back so I can explain to the emperor first. We can discuss this tomorrow.”

“Grand.” Zeke clasped his hands together and high fived Pandoria. “Getting back into the action again feels too good. Ready to rough up some thugs, Pandy?”

“ _Hell_ yes!”

“Remember, you two, this is not a game!” Mòrag chided as they began to make their way back to the airship. The prince and his blade had bounded on ahead of them, following the other Ardainian troops.

Zeke waved his hand, not looking back. “I know that, but I’m just hoping this is an excuse to get Graull kicked off the throne. This could have been some sort of trap he set up. Wouldn’t surprise me.”

That could be the case, yet Mòrag was still going to give her soldiers a stern talking to tomorrow morning.


	3. To Interrogate The Guilty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking investigations into their own hands, Mòrag and Zeke begin their search in Alba Cavanich.

“There has recently been an outbreak of rebellion within the Ardainian army.”

Mòrag stood before the entire military force as she paced outside. She’d gathered every single soldier in the training grounds, all lined up one by one. They stood tense and stiff. 

She was no less agitated. She held her hands tightly behind her back as she made her way back and forth in front of them. Her jaw was hardened and her eyes were dark. If she could have it her way, she would interview them all one by one herself. 

Her brother’s stress had only increased once she reported her news. Niall had collapsed onto his throne and groaned in despair. They had eventually agreed to have Mòrag lead the investigation herself along with aid from Zeke, who had quickly made himself at home in the palace. The other good news was that Niall had agreed to keep this a secret from Uraya until they had more information. He too, feared Graull, and not because he was inexperienced, but it was because he was wise to.

“An official investigation will be conducted,” Mòrag continued. She stopped for a moment to glare at her troops. She couldn’t see their faces, but she knew they all trembled beneath her gaze. The army commanders and captains were lined on their own to the side, and Mòrag shot them a glance too. “Every individual will be subjected to an interview at some point this week. The consequences for such actions  _ will _ be severe.”

“Permission to speak, Your Grace?” 

Mòrag snapped her head to the person speaking. It was Steaphan, seemingly unbothered by this whole event. She gave him a curt nod.

“Perhaps it was not our soldiers, but Urayan forces that attacked?” he said. 

Some of the crowd murmured. Mòrag narrowed her eyes as she considered what he said. It wasn’t impossible, but given the evidence, unlikely.

“We couldn’t find any bodies of Ardainian soldiers, only their equipment, so this is our leading theory. I am afraid we have little information regarding this incident. All we can do for now is investigate every possibility.”

The captain nodded in what seemed to be understanding, but there was a glint in his eye. “Of course, ma’am. Has Uraya been notified of this rebellion?”

“No, we have… decided to remain quiet on the matter.” 

That was the question Mòrag didn’t want to hear, yet she had to answer it. Most of the soldiers remained silent, but she noticed some muttering to each other. She internally cringed. Architect knew how many of them were judging her decisions right now. 

So she decided to further elaborate. “His Imperial Majesty wishes for more details to be uncovered first. For now, we have told Uraya that their soldiers died from unknown causes.”

That was all she had to say. Mòrag quickly dismissed them and went straight back indoors. She just wanted to be out of the public eye and hide for a while. Her soldiers’ voices still carried over to her, though she shut them all out. They already had plenty of investigators on the case at the moment. Interviews were being conducted, so perhaps she would talk things out in more detail with Zeke instead of worrying about the interviews herself. There was still plenty to be done, such as getting reports from the guards.

The Tantal prince had been left in the lurch since they’d arrived. It wasn’t as if Mòrag didn’t want him around, though she had been so busy reporting her findings to Niall and then it had gotten too late to talk last night. Zeke had been set up with his own suite in the palace’s nicer quarters, so it wasn’t as if he was complaining. 

She quickly found him in the military cafeteria. The place was deserted besides from them due to the meeting. Pandoria sat opposite him, shuffling a deck of cards. It seemed like they were already far into their game by the time Mòrag arrived.

“Ah, Mòrag,” said Zeke. He turned to her with a grin as he took his set of cards. “Care to join us?”

“Well, I was hoping to discuss our plan instead,” replied Mòrag. Zeke blinked tiredly.

“It’s not even noon yet.” Once he saw Mòrag’s disapproving glare, he sighed and threw his cards down, leaning back in the seat. “Alright, alright. Have you got anything?”

Mòrag sat down next to him. She watched idly as Pandoria collected the cards back up, shuffling them into a pile. She wasn’t entirely sure what game they were playing.

“I’m having every soldier interviewed, and more patrols have been sent out along our borders. As the footsoldiers are dealing with that, I thought we could do our own investigation, starting in Alba Cavanich.”

“Sounds good,” said Zeke. “I’ll get the rest of my blades ready. You should get in touch with Rex and Nia in the meantime, couldn’t hurt to have a few more party members,” exclaimed Zeke as he stretched his arms outward.

“Er, no, I’m leaving them out of this for now.”

The prince turned to her in confusion. “Huh? Why?”

Mòrag grimaced. “Well, I think it would be unfair. Rex is still a child, the Aegis was severely weakened back at the Orbit Station, and we don’t know to what extent. Not to mention, I fear Graull would be threatened by their presence.”

It was true. Despite how elated the group were when Pyra and Mythra had returned safely, they had lost much of their power. It was no surprise, really, they had temporarily  _ sacrificed _ themselves. The major side effect was now that they were separated, Rex found out that he was unable to join them again and summon Pneuma. As for Rex himself, he was 17 now, the same as Niall, but he was still emotionally and physically immature.

That and  Mòrag knew for certain that he would go absolutely ballistic when he found out about this, and she couldn’t risk him charging into Neo-Uraya demanding Graull’s presence. 

“I thought he did pretty well two years ago, dealing with Malos and all that,” Zeke murmured to himself before looking back at her. “Sure, Mòrag. But if things get worse, please don’t try and do everything yourself. That’s why you have us.”

The Special Inquisitor smiled slightly. “Thank you, Zeke.”

* * *

 

It didn’t take them too long to have their blades gathered. Later in the afternoon, both Mòrag and Zeke had sent several on Mercenary Missions to gather information on the Alba Cavanich outskirts, while the foursome remained together in the town’s centre to interview the palace night guards.

The centre was perhaps the most finished part of the town. There was still so much scaffolding, so many builders rushing to complete houses for the rapidly growing population. Usually, a baby boom would’ve meant a disaster for Mor Ardain, but now they had more than enough food. It was a joy to be truly appreciated rather than feared. That and they could enjoy the much cooler air, and while it took a bit getting used to, the soldiers didn’t collapse due to heat stroke anymore.

“Who do we start with?” asked Zeke as he turned to them. “How do we know the guards even saw anything?”

The busy civilians darting around them stopped to have a glance. It wasn’t often Mòrag came into the town square, especially accompanied by strangers. Their faces were crumpled with worry and they whispered amongst themselves as they passed her.

News of the Urayan slaughter had reached the public by now. Mòrag could hear people talking about it; it was no secret anymore. It seemed their troops had been a little loose-lipped.

Well, Mòrag supposed it wasn’t a big deal as long as it didn’t spread to Uraya itself. Considering how far away it was, it was unlikely for the moment. She forced her shoulders to loosen up.

“We can’t know for sure until we ask,” Brighid responded. Zeke merely shrugged.

“We should start with the ones nearest to the palace,” Mòrag concluded. 

So they did. Zeke, brimming with energy from sitting around all morning pounced on the one stationed next to the gates, startling him somewhat, but he seemed just as clueless as the rest of them. The previous week had been silent and uneventful. 

“No, ma’am,” the guard said as he saluted  Mòrag’s presence. “There has been nothing suspicious to report.”

Unfortunately, the rest of the men had the same response. The nights had been quiet except for the stirrings of merchants up late or the occasional patrol. According to the guards, every Ardainian soldier they had witnessed was on a set patrol, so none had apparently been wandering around outside of working hours. 

“Your guards are useless,” Zeke griped as they retreated back to the palace gates. 

Mòrag furrowed her eyebrows. If their guards hadn’t seen them, and no Ardainian soldier had been seen outside of their set times, had they found some alternate route to use? It was a realistic theory. Their new country was enormous, after all. Its size was overwhelming compared to their old Titan.

In any case, the guards had not helped. They couldn’t waste time asking every other person if they’d seen anything, that was for their Merc groups.  Mòrag turned to Zeke and Pandoria.

“It’s almost time for the Mercenary Missions to come to an end. I suppose we should check back with them before we do anything else. I’ll schedule a notice for any civilians to report anything they saw recently to the palace guards as well. Brighid, we’re returning to —”

Brighid was nowhere to be seen.

The three whipped their heads around. Weird. She’d been here just a moment ago. 

“Brighid?” Mòrag called out. 

“How insensitive of her, leaving us to do all of the work,” Zeke said half-jokingly. 

Suddenly, Pandoria pointed to somewhere behind them. “There she is!”

The crowds had made it difficult to see her, despite her very blue appearance. She was walking briskly away from the town square, heading straight towards the clustered together back alleys. She wasn’t even turning around to check if the group were following her. No, she’d already made up her mind.

Mòrag ran after her, Zeke and Pandoria close behind. They slipped their way through the tall apartment walls and caught side of Brighid’s glowing hair not too far away. The blade was scanning the area vigilantly, ignoring them. 

“Brighid, where are you going?” Mòrag had to hold herself back from snapping, simply due to the stress.

Brighid didn’t answer her question, instead holding up a hand. “I saw someone.”

They fell into a hushed whisper. None of them had seen anyone unusual, at least. Despite that, they trusted the blade’s intuition and kept their mouths shut. Zeke and Pandoria fell back into the shadows, and Mòrag pressed her hand to her right whipsword at the ready.

It was difficult to move around. Mor Ardain had wanted to conserve as much room as possible for farmland and other such properties that they’d built their houses very close together. It wasn’t much different from how it used to back on their home titan, but when trying to stay quiet, it wasn’t easy avoiding bins and storage boxes when one could hardly see what was on the ground in front of them.

They heard a door open.

“You!” Brighid suddenly shouted out as she pounced forwards. There was seemingly no one there, but they all heard a very audible yell as Brighid lunged. There was another surprised squeal and the thud of a body dropping to the floor.

It was a civilian. A young man, whimpering as Brighid pinned him to the ground. There was a duffel bag sprawled out beside him, and the knock it had received caused its contents to spill out. 

Dark, cubed objects. Core Crystals. 

“What in the name of…” Zeke muttered to himself as Mòrag stepped forward. Kneeling down, she counted twelve crystals, all in their meditative state, waiting to glow for their next driver. However, her throat tightened at the number. They had counted twelve dead Urayan soldiers yesterday. 

“These are the Urayan soldiers’ core crystals,” Mòrag said slowly. She held one in her palm, the cool, steady energy pulsing through her arm. While it was difficult to tell, they didn’t seem to have been dormant for that long. She got to her feet and glared down at the trembling man. “What are you doing with these?”

“I-I don’t know, S-special Inquisitor,” he croaked out. “I was just told to deliver them.”

“By who? To  _ where _ ?” Mòrag snarled as she drew one sword to point at him.

On the verge of tears, the man squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry, Your Grace! I didn’t see what they looked like!”

It seemed that he was one of their less fortunate citizens. He was dressed in worn shoes and clothes that were in desperate need of tailoring. Mor Ardain was not a country haunted by poverty, but like all other nations, it still had its fair share. 

“Who  _ was _ it?” Mòrag’s voice was on the verge of a shout when she felt Zeke’s hand on her shoulder. 

“I think we should take it easy on him for the moment,” he said.

Mòrag felt her own body trembling in anger. Yes, Zeke was right. She was far too agitated to interrogate him properly. She exhaled deeply and straightened her back. She was about to turn around and call for nearby soldiers to haul their suspect up before they heard Brighid speak again.

“Explain yourself,” Brighid warned in a gentle yet stern voice, flames curling around her fingertips.

“I don’t know everything,” the man replied, swallowing thickly. “A captain from the military told me to take those crystals outside of Alba Cavanich. To a warehouse in Falach.”

“Falach?”

“It’s... on Neo-Mor Ardain’s eastern border,” Mòrag said to Zeke. She turned back to the man, who had regained some composure, but was still terrified. So she was right. It  _ was _ an Ardainian rebel force. Anger bubbled up in her chest.

How dare they? How dare her own soldiers rebel against their emperor? Not even just a soldier, this man said it was an army  _ captain _ . That was a person with far too much power and influence to be forming a rebel group of all things. The only  _ good _ thing was that it made things a little easier for them to find the suspect; there were only ten army captains after all.

“I’m sorry,” the man on the floor muttered. “ I just— I  _ needed _ the money.”

So, they had paid him to deliver these crystals? Mòrag grit her teeth, directing her anger towards them rather than the man. She tried to make herself feel a little empathy for him.

“That’s a step closer to completing the puzzle,” Brighid said as she got to her feet. Three soldiers came racing by after Mòrag had summoned them, and they hauled the man up by his arms. He made no attempt to fight back as they dragged him away towards the palace, the third gathering the duffel bag of core crystals. 

Following close behind, fists clenched, Mòrag nodded at Zeke and Pandoria. “Just… gather the results from the Merc Missions. I’ll deal with this.”

Pandoria looked at her driver as Zeke watched them go. 

“Mòrag seems stressed,” she remarked. 

“Yeah, I haven’t seen her _ this  _ wound up before,” Zeke replied. 

It was an odd sight for him. Mòrag was usually so cool-tempered, the logical one of the group. She always knew how to deal with every situation. Zeke remembered how calmly she dealt with his father locking them in prison, and the time when Jin and Malos took Pyra. There were many more if he would take the time to remember them.

So, what was causing this? Was it because this was personal to her? She  _ was _ very proud of her country, after all. Zeke didn’t really get it, but he’d stopped trying to figure people out recently. It wasn’t worth the effort.

“Well, looks like there’s nothing else for it, Pandy,” Zeke exclaimed as loudly as he usually did and allowed his arms to drop after having them crossed. 

“What do you mean, my prince?”

He looked pleased with his decision. “We need the full gang here, no matter what Mòrag says.”

* * *

 

The interrogation lasted hours. Probably a lot longer than it needed to.

Steaphan had spent most of the time lurking outside of the interrogation room, listening to Mòrag’s frustrations and the man’s pleading. 

The army captain was annoyed. He had told Raghnall that they should’ve given the core crystals from the slaughtered Urayans to one of their loyalists, but Raghnall had been against the idea. Steaphan was left in the dark about his decision before it was too late, and he had gone and paid a civilian to do it in case their soldier was caught. 

Of _ course _ a random man would get captured. He had no idea what he was doing. Then again, Steaphan supposed it was better than having been found out himself, and he didn’t entirely trust their growing forces to lie efficiently. Things were getting dangerous. Mòrag knew the army was talking about war, and she’d soon come for them.

Killing the Urayans had been easy. They had been right about Graull pushing his soldiers close, and so they had paid the price. Only they probably should have cleaned up the evidence. Steaphan was sure they had, but it seemed some pieces had slipped by them in the aftermath. 

“Steaphan,” a low voice said. The captain jumped and turned to see Raghnall standing before him.

“How do you creep around so quietly?” he snapped. 

Raghnall rolled his eyes and gestured for his comrade to follow him. They ended up in a narrow part of the palace’s hallways in hushed darkness. 

“I’m afraid we’re not going to have much time left before Ladair starts interviewing  _ us _ ,” the commander spoke. “We know we can keep fighting the Urayans, and we’ve got a third of the army on our side, but we need to settle within a base  _ now. _ ”

“They’re already going to set out for Falach. What are we going to do about that?”

Turning his head away, Raghnall chewed his lip as he thought. He hadn’t expected the Special Inquisitor to be so aggressive about this so soon. They all knew her as a calm, level-headed woman, though he supposed it was because of the pride she had for her country. She was just like Niall, too busy tiptoeing around a war rather than taking action.

“Perhaps it’s time we made our move,” Steaphan eventually suggested.

Their resistance forces had been growing for months, but they’d only started acting out a week ago. It would make sense to properly cut themselves off from the Ardainian army now that they’d already started investigations. 

“It  _ would _ be risky to stay here much longer…” Raghnall pondered out loud. 

“We have our supplies. I can send out orders to the others to move out tonight. We’ve got plenty of lookouts around the border and we’ve already scouted out the land in between here and Neo-Uraya. They’ll never be able to get close to us.” 

It was undesirable, but something was going to have to be done before they were found out. Raghnall turned back to Steaphan and nodded. 

“Very well, have three or four bases on the Ardainian border set up, but I want you and the majority of our group to make your way to Falach as soon as possible.”

Steaphan raised a brow. “Why? Ladair will be there with a platoon in a few days. As much as I hate to admit it, Raghnall, we’re probably going to have to give Falach up.”

“No, you will be planning an ambush.”

“On... Ladair herself?”

“She needs to be warned about what she’s dealing with.”

Steaphan swallowed uncomfortably, thinking about Mòrag’s small army of powerful blades, and that wasn’t even including the companions she’d occasionally travel with. The Tantal prince himself was within the palace at this very moment.

“But, she knows the Aegis. We can’t win against that.”

“Fool,” Raghnall scoffed. “The Aegis was weakened years ago. It is but a fraction of what it once was. Not to mention, the Special Inquisitor won’t be able to take many soldiers with her with half her fleet missing, Aegis or not. They won’t be a problem.”

The commander sounded so sure of himself that Steaphan actually started to believe him. He let out a grin once he processed the plan in his head once more, satisfied. It wouldn’t be easy to move all of their soldiers out in such a short amount of time, but their usual routine was mixed up. That was one advantage they had to leap on or else. Not to mention, they had their fair share of guards on their side. Slipping out of the palace a week ago had been child’s play.

Indeed, now was the best time they were going to get. 

“It won’t be long,” Raghnall said after a minute. “The Urayan forces will be crushed, and Mor Ardain can rightfully take their land. The emperor will be on his knees thanking us at the end of it. Then we’ll truly be able to call ourselves an empire.”

* * *

 

“My prince, slow down or they won’t be able to read your handwriting…”

Zeke had holed himself up in his suite with Pandoria leaning over his shoulder, watching him frantically write with a fountain pen of all things. Pandoria grimaced at the massive splodges of ink covering the page from Zeke’s awkward hand.

“We can’t be too neat in dire times, Pandy,” Zeke retorted as he finished up one page. He shoved it inside an envelope and stuck on a stamp. “One for Tora, and this next one is for Nia.”

“What if Mòrag gets angry that you’re recruiting everyone without her knowing?” Pandoria muttered, chewing on her finger. 

Zeke stuck out his tongue in concentration as he finished writing Tora’s address and then started on Nia’s letter. “We’re just going to have to deal with that when it happens. This is big, Pandy. This is something Mòrag can’t do on her own, so she’s going to have to accept that.”

He struggled to remember their addresses. He knew that Tora and Poppi had stayed at Argentum for the time being, still not sure where they should permanently set up shop. Nia, Dromarch, Rex and both of the Aegis’ were staying in Fonsett. The titans of the Leftherian Archipelago had merged with Elysium just like the others, but it seemed the Leftherians were reluctant to leave. So, the group of five were assisting them in slowly expanding their village onto Elysium’s shores. 

Ah, yes, he thought. That was the house name. Zeke scribbled down the last of the addresses and gathered the letters up. He was excited, really. It had been such a long time since they had worked together. 

He was going to have them posted immediately. Zeke burst out of the room and raced to find someone to pass the letters on to a courier, Pandy running after him. Sometimes his status as a prince made things handy when he needed something done quickly.

Even if the situation was drastic, and the war was the last thing they needed, he was looking forward to seeing them again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hate this chapter but i couldnt skip it ahsfjhg ch4 is better i promise............


	4. The Reubaltaich

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zeke invites Nia along on the first mission to find the rebel soldiers, much to Mòrag's surprise.

 As expected, Graull had gone berserk.

The guards stationed next to his throne had to resist the urge to cover their ears as their king threw down his fists and screamed. A nervous royal messenger had delivered Mor Ardain’s message that a number of their soldiers had died to unknown causes next to their border, and Graull did _not_ like hearing it.

“Those Ardainian mongrels,” he spat, gripping the throne’s arm rests. “It had to have been them. They set their deranged soldiers after us!”

His royal advisor made a wry face. “Your Majesty, with all due respect, Mor Ardain reported that it was most likely a bandit attack… and they were kind enough to return the core crystals...”

“Shut up,” snarled Graull. The advisor shrank back.

The Urayan got to his feet. He was unlike his royal predecessors in terms of clothing. He refused to wear their traditional garbs in favour of decorative armour that made his shoulders look enormous. The metal adorning his body clinked together as he stormed up and down. Any servants that had been in the throne room had scurried out in a desperate attempt to avoid the king’s temper tantrum.

He turned back towards his terrified advisor, scowling. “We need to up our defenses. Give out the order to upgrade our watch towers.”

“But, sire, they’ve been upgraded as much as possible at the moment—”

The advisor squeaked as Graull grabbed him by the collar and lifted him up. “Then build _more_.”

Throwing the poor man to the ground, Graull turned away as the advisor got to his feet and ran to pass on the order, though more likely running for his life. His second advisor was currently trembling behind one of the guards. Graull rolled his eyes and went back to slouch on the throne. There were no more messages, but he was still too angry to do anything else but sulk.

It wasn’t as if it had taken a huge chunk of out his army, but Graull was annoyed at the fact they’d been killed at all. His goal was to make his military larger, more impressive, and he couldn’t exactly do that if his soldiers were being mauled.

He then looked to the other advisor. “Well? Speaking of Mor Ardain, have they delivered their ore yet?”

The second advisor swallowed and looked at the clipboard he was holding in his shaky hands. “Yes, Your Majesty, it was delivered along with their message.”

“Good,” Graull said. “We’ll _need_ it.”

Another figure stepped forwards. Graull flicked his yellow eyes over to them, relaxing slightly to see that it was his blade. A tall being, very different to Graull’s bulky frame. Fangs glinted in the dull light and her long, pointed ears twitched as she smiled. She bowed in greeting.

“Eurica.”

“Your Majesty,” the blade, Eurica, said. “If I may ask, are you really planning on attacking Mor Ardain?”

“Obviously,” Graull grunted as he sat up slightly. “I’m waiting for the right opportunity. Once we get our military in its top form, and the Ardainians are weak. It’s only a matter of time.”

Eurica’s easy smile eased off into a frown. “Even though Emperor Niall has been so compliant? Is there really a need for a war when I’m sure they’re happy to adhere to us?”

The king didn’t look pleased. Surely, if anyone would understand him, it would be his blade.

“I am a man of action, Eurica. If we don’t do anything, then Mor Ardain will repeat their history of invading us. I am not willing to stand for it. Elysium is a sign of new beginnings, and having Mor Ardain conquered by our hands _is_ that new beginning.”

His blade nodded respectfully. “Yes, sire.”

Satisfied, Graull turned his thoughts back to his kingdom.

Uraya had been doing very well in the past two years. Graull still resided in the old palace back on their titan, but they had built towns, farmland and trading outposts on Elysium itself. Their titan seemed to have gone dormant, as its very body was merging with the land so much that it hardly looked like a titan anymore.

And, of course, Graull had been putting their new ore to good use. Neo-Uraya hadn’t had much in the way of mountains or mine deposits, its soil far more marshy and the weather more humid. Neo-Gormott’s forests overlapped their borders, so that also meant a steady supply of wood. So, Mor Ardain’s ore went straight towards building materials and weaponry.

Graull looked towards the portraits surrounding him on either side. There were his great ancestors and more recent relatives, and he smiled when his eyes settled on Raqura’s portrait.

“My dear aunt,” he started in a soft voice, “you weren’t necessarily a bad ruler, but it takes one with more authority to truly guide Uraya to success.”

* * *

 “What’s this all about then, shellhead?”

Zeke grinned when he saw Nia arrive at the gates to Alba Cavanich. She looked around, suddenly impressed by how much the town had grown since they had started out. Dromarch, sitting closely by her side as usual, also seemed to be in awe.

“Nia, great to see you,” Zeke greeted. “You too, Dromarch.”

The blade nodded. “It’s been a long time, Zeke.”

“You’re right. When was the last time we saw each other? A year and a half ago?”

Nia cracked a grin and folded her arms. “Yeah. It’s been a while. Looks like you’re still up to no good by the sounds of your letter.”

The prince feigned a hurt expression, Pandoria mimicking him exactly.

“Cruel words, Nia. It’s quite the opposite, in fact. Mòrag needs some help dealing with rebel soldiers.”

That seemed to get the pair’s attention. Dromarch’s eyebrows shot up and Nia frowned. She unfolded her arms and placed them on her hips. “I’m sorry, what? Rebel soldiers?”

Zeke quickly led them to a nearby cafe. He would have brought them to the palace but he didn’t want Mòrag to see them prematurely. Not before he had told her, of course.

He’d received both Rex and Tora’s replies early in the morning. Rex had said he would be there as soon as he possibly could, but was tied down with building for Leftheria. He had underestimated how much they relied upon him and both of the Aegis’. Concern had showed in his words, however. Zeke knew he’d show up whenever he could. Tora had said similar, saying he couldn’t get to Neo-Mor Ardain until he had found an affordable way of travelling. It seemed like Argentum was still in the middle of getting its travel lines set up.

Thankfully, Nia had come straight over. Since Rex was busy, Nia had volunteered to go for him, at least for the first few days. She sat opposite Zeke after ordering their drinks.

It didn’t take long to explain. Nia’s face fell as Zeke unravelled the details of the rebel soldier outbreak, and that Mòrag was still investigating. She cringed as he mentioned Graull and how aggressive he had become since he was crowned king. She cringed further as he spoke about the Urayan soldier massacre they had discovered yesterday.

“Sounds like you guys have been through a lot,” said Nia as she held tightly onto her mug.

“Rex will be most upset when he finds out,” Dromarch commented lowly.

Zeke had to agree. The entire reason they had fought so hard to get to Elysium was to be free of war, and Rex out of everyone had fought the hardest. He was going to be both furious and devastated.

“I wanted you guys to come with us to Falach,” Zeke said. “It’s a bit away from here, but we found out that’s where the rebel soldiers are keeping their base of operations. Or at least some kind of warehouse.”

Nia nodded, giving him a confident smile despite the circumstances. “Sure thing, shellhead. ‘Course we’ll help out.”

“My lady, you should let Rex know where we are should he wish to join us later,” Dromarch said to her. His driver nodded, mentally taking a note.

After their drinks were finished, Zeke stood up and stretched his arms above his head. Pandoria jumped to her feet, awaiting his decision. “Welp, I suppose we better let Mòrag know you’re here. Don’t be surprised if she, uh, gets angry. She doesn’t exactly know I invited you here.”

Nia rolled her eyes as she followed the prince to the new Hardhaigh palace. “Geez, wonder how well _that’s_ going to work out.”

The place seemed to be in disarray when they got there.

The first thing that was odd was that there were far less soldiers than there were yesterday. It seemed like at least a quarter of the entire army was gone. Zeke frowned in confusion as he looked around, seeing everyone nervously talk amongst each other.

“What’s going on?” asked Nia.

“No idea. It wasn’t like this when we left,” replied Zeke.

They could hear various military leaders barking orders left and right. Servants squeezed past the panicked soldiers and tried to go about their business, but everything was in such a mess nobody seemed to be relaxed.

As well as part of the army, Mòrag didn’t seem to be anywhere in sight, either. Zeke lead Nia and Dromarch through the entire finished lower half of the palace, only to find more distress. They eventually circled back to the main hall again, and Zeke looked down.

“Maybe she’s in the throne room?” he pondered out loud.

They were about to make their way up the large staircase before they heard the familiar sound of Brighid’s cool voice. Yet, before they saw her, they first saw Mòrag almost run down the stairs. Her expression was like thunder.

“Oh, there you are!” Zeke called out as he waved. Mòrag was about to say something to him before she caught sight of Nia and Dromarch standing next to him.

“...Nia? Dromarch?”

“Hey,” Nia responded. “Everything alright? You look stressed.”

“Greetings, Lady Mòrag,” said Dromarch.

Mòrag looked bewildered. She spent several seconds taking in the fact that two of her old travelling companions that she hadn’t seen in over a year were standing before her, and then turned to see Zeke grinning.

“So, uh, I _may_ have sent them a message to help out,” he said sheepishly.

The Special Inquisitor’s expression turned from that of confusion to one of fury. Both Nia and Dromarch sighed as Zeke tried to stand his ground.

“ _Zeke_ ,” Mòrag growled, “I _specifically_ said—”

“You need the help,” he responded quickly. “Just look at this place, Mòrag. Why is everyone in such a panic? What’s been going on?”

It took a moment for Mòrag to force herself to relax. Brighid was behind her, ready to calm her if she became agitated again. She softened her face. “Very well. I’ll explain.”

The other four were taken aback as Mòrag sat them down to talk. They had settled themselves shortly in one of the many parlours where they had some privacy to digest the news.

“A third of the army are missing.”

“What do you mean, _missing_?” Nia asked.

“They’re gone. They’ve just left, sometime last night we believe.”

Brighid commented, “They’ve also taken a large portion of our weaponry and food rations.”

“The rebel soldiers?” said Zeke. Mòrag nodded solemnly.

“We had no idea they were so vast in number,” she said quietly. Her hands were tightly clenched. “At least 100 soldiers have gone missing. We are still investigating.”

It must have been because of the interviews they had began conducting. It wasn’t surprising that the rebels would up and run away considering they were now being investigated. Still, both Mòrag and Brighid looked tired, as if they’d been up since early morning trying to sort this mess out. Mòrag rubbed at the dark circles under her eyes as she finished talking.

“That man from yesterday said their base was in Falach, remember?” Zeke eventually spoke up. Mòrag shifted her eyes to look at him. “We were supposed to be heading there today.”

“And what if they’ve moved?” Nia suggested. She’d leant back in her seat and put her arms behind her head. “We’ll just end up travelling all that way for nothing. What then?”

They fell into another silence.

It was possible they could have moved. Mòrag hadn’t announced publically that their base of operations was in Falach, but they could have easily assumed she knew since she’d been interrogating the civilian for hours. If these rebel soldiers were as smart as they should be, then they probably would have moved.

Then again, they had blades specifically designed for these sort of missions. There was Brighid with her Keen Eye, and Azami, Zeke’s blade, with her Clairvoyant Eye. Not to mention the countless other common blades that they’d trained for mysteries with no apparent leads. While the circumstances were far more serious, it wasn’t much different from a Merc Mission.

“No, Zeke’s right,” Mòrag said after they’d spent a while thinking. The other five looked at her. “We need to investigate Falach. They may have left, but it’s our only lead.”

She stood up. The others also jumped up, at the ready.

“I shall prepare a small platoon of soldiers to bring with us. Zeke and Nia, please gather any blades you have with Keen Eye and Focus. We will have to take extra precautions.”

Mòrag then left the room. Brighid stayed behind to help the others prepare, but Mòrag had had enough communicating.

Her morning had been disastrous. She found it difficult to stay asleep anyway, and when she _did_ fall asleep, she awoke to a pounding on her door, opening it to see Padraig frantically trying to explain himself. When she finally got him to speak clearly, he revealed that a massive chunk of the armed soldiers were missing along with most of their weaponry.

The palace was in chaos in minutes. Niall’s advisors were panicking instead of being useful, and Mòrag had only found six of their ten captains in the building. That meant four captains were rebels.

Unsurprisingly, that included Steaphan and Raghnall, the two subordinates she’d heard discussing a war only last week. She grit her teeth as she made her way through the hallways. She should have dealt with them sooner while she was still suspicious.

How on earth were they going to cope with Uraya when they couldn’t even trust their own military?

It took her a while to get everyone to calm down to listen to her orders. Mòrag stood outside where she had done yesterday morning, selecting her best soldiers to accompany her to Falach. Zeke, Nia, Pandoria, Dromarch and Brighid had found their way to her and were waiting within the crowd. She knew they were going to come with her regardless of what she said, she hadn’t planned on arguing.

Mòrag greeted them when she selected 25 soldiers. Dismissing them to gather their weapons, she nodded to her group.

“I know it’s… been a long time since we’ve worked together.” She cleared her throat. “But we have to focus. Rebel forces are a lot more dangerous than you might think. These are armed Ardainian soldiers, after all, not mere bandits.”

“Please, some soldiers aren’t going to stop us. We defeated Malos, remember?” Nia scoffed smugly.

“My lady… Mòrag only means that it has been a while since we fought seriously,” Dromarch remarked. “We should still be careful.”

“So, how long will it take us to get to Falach anyway?” Zeke questioned.

“About half a day.”

The prince pulled a face. “Er, that’s on a titan airship, right?”

“Unfortunately, we can’t risk taking an airship lest we alert them of our presence. We will have to go on foot.”

Both Zeke and Nia groaned loudly. Their blades looked at them in disapproval, along with Mòrag.

It was then not too long before Mòrag’s platoon reported back, armed with supplies, their blades and their rifles. At least the rebels had left behind enough for the group. She had decided to lead them herself instead of taking a captain for extra support, seeing as the palace would need better protection with less soldiers to guard it. She had Zeke and Nia, too. The group was well armed.

Niall, of course, was sentimental as Mòrag reported her mission to him.

“Do not worry, Your Majesty,” she instructed him as he looked at her with worried eyes. “We will return by tomorrow night at the earliest.”

They almost stood eye to eye these days. Niall was only an inch away from surpassing her in height. He was still rather boyish, but his jaw had squared out nicely and he carried more of the authority an emperor was expected to have.

He nodded. “Very well. I wish you luck on your mission.”

Bowing respectfully, Mòrag then turned to leave before Niall called out to her.

“Mòrag? Be safe.”

She was about to assure him that she’d be fine before she felt Niall wrap his arms around her. Stunned, Mòrag could only stand frozen before she eventually returned the embrace. It had been too long since she’d actually hugged her brother. It was strange, but pleasant.

She gave him a smile. That was all the assurance that Niall needed before he sent her on her way.

* * *

 “There are too many bugs out here!” Nia wailed.

“Well, what did you expect?” Mòrag snapped back as she whacked another tree branch out of the way.

It was creeping into the late hours of the night when the platoon began to grow tired. After nearly 12 hours of walking, almost everyone had began to complain. Nia had screamed at every massive insect that had flown past and Zeke still wasn’t finished whining about his sore feet.

Mòrag supposed she couldn’t blame them. She felt pretty terrible herself. Having had not much sleep the previous night, her eyes felt heavier with each step she took. They’d taken a break every few hours to eat and rest their legs, but it was so late that it wasn’t helping much. She was sure it was nearly midnight by now.

The good thing was the fact they were already in the midst of Falach. It was a fairly large piece of land, but they had yet to find any sort of obvious base or campsite. All that was visible were trees, trees and yet more trees.

They’d had to resort to slicing the branches away with their weapons to squeeze through the denser areas. The amount of times some of them had tripped over tree roots was embarrassing.

“Seriously, Mòrag,” Zeke moaned. “When are we going to get there?”

The Special Inquisitor stopped and threw down her swords. “Fine! We’ll rest here.”

Her troops sank to their knees almost immediately. Nia draped herself over Dromarch’s body and Zeke and Pandoria took a seat on a nearby fallen log. They had some food left, but it was meant for tomorrow, so they held off eating anymore.

Mòrag gave the instruction to set up their tents. There weren’t many massive clearings in Falach, so they would have to make do with the room that they had. A fire was started and Mòrag sat down to stare at the flames mindlessly.

Her body was screaming for sleep, but her mind was in overdrive. All she could think about was the rebel soldiers. That they were out here, so close to them. Were they all here? Would they have to face 100 at once?

“Lady Mòrag,” Brighid cut into her thoughts. She turned to her blade tiredly. “I think you should take this opportunity to rest up. It’s the middle of the night, and everyone is exhausted.”

She sighed in defeat. “Hhn… I suppose, but… what if the rebels are nearby?”

Her blade gazed at her. “Don’t worry. I won’t let them near us.”

Once they had her tent set up and made her take her armour and uniform off, Mòrag had gone out like a light. Brighid, Pandoria and Nia got themselves ready to join her while Zeke and Dromarch took their own tent. Before they got into their tent, however, Nia stopped Brighid.

“Brighid, I just wanted to ask… is Mòrag okay?”

The blade frowned slightly. “She is under a lot of pressure. A cold war is very likely in the near future, if we are not in the middle of one right now. I’m sure she’ll recover once we find these rebel soldiers.”

“Why are they rebelling? What’s their cause?”

“Some _want_ the war with Uraya. It is much like it was back in Alrest. Many of our soldiers have said it would be best to compete for more land. It is… concerning.”

Nia listened to Brighid as she spoke softly, looking at the flickering embers of the dying campfire. She then dropped her gaze to the floor. “Why would anyone want that?”

“I don’t know, Nia,” responded Brighid.

It didn’t take the others long to fall asleep. Brighid had smiled at Mòrag’s form, curling up tightly as she normally did. She’d probably die of embarrassment if she knew how she slept. Still, it was good to see a somewhat peaceful expression on her face. Brighid was worried for as much as everyone else was. Mòrag didn’t deserve to be this stressed after all they’d fought for back then. The blade kept an eye on her so that she slept peacefully before drifting off herself.

* * *

 It was around three in the morning when Mòrag awoke.

She was far from completely rested, but she felt a little bit better than earlier at least. She rolled over to her other side, about to try and get back to sleep before she heard a noise.

“...them over here.”

“...re ready, Captain.”

The words were muffled, but Mòrag had definitely heard them. She shot up instantly. Instead of getting up, she continued to see if she could hear anything else. There were some footsteps, and some more muttering which she couldn’t quite catch, and then there was nothing.

She couldn’t stay here. She had to go and investigate.

Brighid shifted when she heard Mòrag struggle to put her uniform back on in the tight confinement of the tent.

“What’s going on?”

“I heard something,” Mòrag quickly replied as she yanked her trousers up to her waist, buckling her belt.

“What did you hear?”

“Talking. It was the rebel soldiers, Brighid. It had to have been.”

Usually Brighid would tell Mòrag to go back to sleep, but seeing the urgent look on her face, Brighid only nodded in understanding and removed the covers.

It wasn’t long before Nia and Pandoria were also disturbed by the other two pulling their clothes on.

“Ugh, can you knock it off?” Nia muttered, half asleep.

Pandoria scrambled for her glasses and tried to adjust them. “Did something happen?”

Mòrag was fully dressed within minutes. She nodded to Brighid and slipped outside of the tent.

“Lady Mòrag heard something. We are going to investigate. If you are needed, we’ll fetch you.”

With that, the two were gone. The cool night air sent a wave of adrenaline throughout Mòrag’s tired body, making her feel more alive. Her instincts were shouting at her to get a move on, to hunt down the rebels as soon as possible. She managed to hold herself back until Brighid was at her side.

From where she was sitting in the tent, Mòrag had heard the voices travel from around them to the east, further into Falach’s forest. She kept a tight grip on the hilts of her whipswords as they made their way as quietly as they could.

Suddenly, there was more rustling. Mòrag held her breath as she heard more footsteps up ahead. They were close.

What they expected to see when they exited the canopy of trees was perhaps a campground, not a full _building_.

It wasn’t enormous, but it was rigidly built. It was some sort of storage house from the looks of it. There were no soldiers in sight, so the pair slowly crept forwards to get a better look.

“This must be the place that man was meant to deliver the core crystals,” Mòrag whispered to Brighid.

“Indeed,” she said. “Should we check inside?”

Mòrag held a finger to her lips as a sign to keep quiet as they inched closer. The sounds of talking and footsteps had all but vanished, though they had to be nearby. The storage house seemed empty from the lack of noise coming from it.

There didn’t seem to be anything of interest. A few boxes were scattered around, and they even found some of their stolen equipment, yet they didn’t find as much as they hoped.

No, they couldn’t just declare this a failed mission. Mòrag looked around at the vast darkness. Those soldiers were out there.

“Alright, we’ll had back for now. I’ll get some troops to gather the—”

“Lady Mòrag, look out!”

Mòrag ducked a second before a shard of ice fractured her skull. It instead became lodged in the wood of the storage house.

What the hell was that? Mòrag leapt to the side as another barrage of ice shards were flung in her direction. Their freezing energy curled and wisped around in the air like tendrils, causing shivers to run down her spine. Well, she knew that was no change of weather. Mòrag whipped around and glared at the attacker with a look that could kill.

It was still very dark, but she could make out the outline of a man standing amongst the shade of the trees. An ice blade lurked nearby, preparing itself to transfer ether for another attack.

“Who are you?” Mòrag demanded, drawing her swords forth. Brighid’s core lit up as she drew ether to her, sapphire embers already fluttering into the air.

The man chuckled as he came forth. A greataxe was slung over on his shoulder, caked in frozen crystals.

“Special Inquisitor,” he sneered. As soon as Mòrag caught sight of his slicked back orange hair and narrow eyes, her expression darkened further.

“Steaphan,” she snarled.

Steaphan looked smug. “Indeed, it is I. Luring you here was easier than expected. I expected more of you, really.”

Mòrag didn’t hesitate in sending an array of flames in his direction. Steaphan was quick to respond and countered with a wave of ice. Usually, Brighid’s fire would have easily melted it, but Steaphan was a good driver. He also knew exactly how Mòrag operated in a fight.

“Explain to me, what the _hell_ are you doing?”

Their weapons clashed as they lunged at each other. Mòrag’s face was murderous. Steaphan only grinned back, amused.

“Are you really surprised?” he said as he swung his axe for her head. Mòrag once again ducked and jumped back. “We’re fighting for a better future for Mor Ardain. If we have to break away from the empire to do so, then we will. The Reubaltaich will stop at nothing.”

The _Reubaltaich_? That was what they were calling themselves now?

“You speak only nonsense,” Mòrag hissed out as she drew her whipswords forward and then slashed them outward. Blue flames danced up into the sky as Steaphan pushed them upward instead of at him. “What are you, and this Reubaltaich absurdity, gaining from robbing your own country and slaughtering Urayan soldiers?”

“We’re doing what you’re _not_!”

Mòrag cried out as she was too slow to dodge an incoming shard. It wedged itself deep in her upper arm,  piercing her skin and drawing blood. She wasn’t at her prime. She was still tired from the long walk, having only had three hours sleep earlier and the same amount the previous night. The shard burned from how frigidly cold it was, hardening her skin and freezing her core. Mòrag was forced to drop her sword to yank it out.

Steaphan took the chance to knock her off her feet with one of his Arts. He dug his axe into the soil next to her head, pinning her into place.

“The emperor has no idea what he’s doing,” he growled into her ear. “Uraya _will_ start a war, whether he complies with them or not. We’re just taking the action that needs to be taken.”

When Brighid sent a course of ether through to her, strengthening their Affinity to its maximum, Mòrag raised her legs and kicked Steaphan in the stomach. He gasped and was sent flying backwards.

“You are a fool, Steaphan,” Mòrag spat as she got to her feet, grabbing her other sword. She pointed it at the army captain. “You think you’ll get away with these crimes? We’ll have you dishonourably discharged from the army at best.”

The man shrugged. “Fine by me. Never liked working under a woman, anyway.”

She almost bared her teeth. “You—”

Steaphan didn’t seem interested in whatever she was going to say next. He raised his arm above his head and snapped his fingers. Mòrag stood ready for another attack, but instead of more ice being hurled her way, Ardainian soldiers began to creep out from the undergrowth.

There had to be at least 40 of them. Brighid moved closer to her driver, both knowing they couldn’t defeat this many.

“Sorry to end it like this, Special Inquisitor. Hopefully you can understand why we’re doing this,” Steaphan drawled.

Great, now they were truly trapped.

Mòrag was confident that she could take on a group of, say, ten soldiers, but in her current state, 40 was too much. That was not even including Steaphan, one of the best captains the army had. She pressed her back to Brighid as more of the soldiers began to get closer.

Steaphan raised his axe above him and twisted his body, ready for a Special.

“Icicle Cr—”

“ _Overload Thunder Beam_!”

A pillar of purple lightning shot across the clearing. Steaphan was forced to draw his weapon back, stunned. The soldiers that were in the way had the backs of their armour blown off into pieces. Mòrag and Brighid turned their heads to the right, wondering where on earth that electricity had come from.

“What the…” Steaphan snarled, hiding behind his blade. “Who do you think you are?”

Four figures stepped into view. Despite the darkness, Mòrag could recognise their forms anywhere.

Zeke, alongside Pandoria, Nia and Dromarch, stood ready facing the mass of Reubaltaich soldiers. He nodded to her, clutching his sword. “Are we late?”


	5. The King's Blade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A battle ensues. Later, Mòrag then has to deal with an unexpected visitor at the palace.

****Mòrag had never been so elated to see Zeke in her life.

Upon their timely appearance, Steaphan let out a howl of rage. Despite the Reubaltaich vastly outnumbering them, even they began to feel nervous.

“For the love of the Architect, not _now,_ ” snarled Steaphan as he clung on tightly to his greataxe.

Zeke took a second to survey the area. It was better lit now that it was covered in blue embers and purple sparks, and he took notice of Mòrag’s hunched over posture. Blood soaked her right sleeve and glove as she clutched onto the wound.

“You good, Mòrag?” Zeke called out.

She nodded. She still had one good arm, at least. “The rebel soldiers… it’s an ambush.”

Looking smug, Zeke waved his hand in a beckoning gesture. Both Mòrag, Brighid and Steaphan looked on in shock as the entire platoon of soldiers that Mòrag had brought spilled into the clearing, fully armed. They readied their rifles and blades as they faced the Reubaltaich group head on.

“Now then,” Nia growled threateningly, “we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Are you going to be clever about this?”

Steaphan glanced back and forth between them. They could practically see the gears turning in his head as he considered his options. He seemed confident enough to take on Mòrag on her own, but he wasn’t entirely stupid. He knew all too well what Zeke and Nia were capable of. Stories of the Aegis’ wielder and his companions had spread far across Alrest and now over Elysium itself. Being a knowledgeable man, Steaphan would be well educated in that subject.

He then gave a gesture to his blade. The pair jumped back, and wielding his axe, Steaphan created a flurry of ice crystals that were swept up into the sky, masking them in an attempt to escape.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Zeke shouted as he lunged forward. He dove into the ice cloud and Mòrag could hear the clashing of metal on metal.

The rest of the Reubaltaich gave out a battle cry and rushed to defend their captain. Some seemed to be slinking back inside the forest, but none of the group could really go after them. They were immediately faced with the deranged rebel soldiers who brandished their weapons savagely.

Mòrag was forced to continue on as everyone around her erupted into battle. Her arm made it difficult to keep a firm grip on her sword, though she tried to make do.

Several Reubaltaich soldiers made a dash for her. She struck them all down with Brighid’s sapphire flames, hardly batting an eye at their screams of agony before burning alive. They might have been her soldiers once, but they had forfeited that privilege when they had decided it was a good idea to rebel against her. She continued to slash them down one by one, firing Art after Art.

In the corner of her eye, she noticed Nia was keeping her troops healed, and Dromarch was doing a good job of keeping those around them at bay. The flurry of ice and lightning concluded that Zeke and Steaphan were still sparring.

The former captain hissed as he landed on his back after a blow from Dynamic Spark Sword. He glowered up at the prince. “Tantal idiot, why are you getting involved? This has _nothing_ to do with you.”

“It does when your war threatens all of Elysium,” Zeke said. “I’m not going to just stand back and let you _kill_ people for no reason.”

Steaphan let out a deranged chuckle as he rolled over to dodge Zeke’s sword once again. This time he managed to stab Zeke’s leg with a spear of ice. As Zeke went down, he leapt up and sent another one of his icy barrages raining down on him. He cried out.

“My prince!” Pandoria yelled, making a run to haul Zeke away from the chilling magic. Steaphan’s blade skidded in front of her and, using the greataxe that Steaphan hurled his way, kept her away from reaching her driver.

“Sure hope the king of Tantal doesn’t come after me when I murder his son.” Steaphan grinned cruelly and staggered over. Zeke, still on his knees, breathed heavily as he failed to stand up. The icicle was still lodged in his calf, seemingly freezing his very blood the longer it remained there. It hurt too much to try and pull it out. Now, with Pandoria being held back by Steaphan’s blade, there was not much he could do.

“You’re not that dumb,” Zeke muttered bitterly.

Steaphan laughed. “Getting rid of threats isn’t dumb. What _is_ dumb, though, is the fact you think you can win against all of _us_.”

He raised his axe above his head. Pandoria wailed in despair, Zeke still remaining on his knees. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Then he heard Steaphan scream loudly as blue flames engulfed him.

Mòrag leapt between them and slashed her swords in an outwards motion. Steaphan stumbled back while his blade raced to assist him. Pandoria then grabbed Zeke by the shoulders, panic heavy in her voice.

“Oh, _crap_ , my prince, are you OK?”

“I’ll live,” Zeke said to her with a half-hearted wink. He turned to Mòrag, who was panting unleashing a well-timed, powerful Hellfire attack. The wound in her arm was now bleeding more heavily. “Hey, Mòrag. I owe you one.”

The Special Inquisitor nodded. “Don’t worry about it.”

She then turned her attention back to Steaphan, who was only just recovering from the scorching fire after his blade doused him with snow. Burn marks covered his face and the fabric parts of his uniform still weren’t entirely put out. He wheezed through his blackened teeth.

“Bitch,” he rasped.

So, that was what her captain had apparently thought of her this whole time? Was that what all these soldiers thought of her, or even her entire army? Mòrag scowled and raised her sword. “I’ll bring you back to His Majesty as a decaying corpse if I have to.”

He looked around. There was fear in his eyes, and Steaphan did a bad job of trying to hide it. It seemed like Nia and Dromach had driven back a large portion and the others were still being occupied by the Ardainian forces. Then, he flicked his gaze over to the storage house. It was still empty, and he caught sight of his soldiers carrying the last of their stolen weapons and supplies into the night. He gave them a demented grin and turned to both Mòrag and Zeke.

“Not today, you won’t. Sorry to cut things short, but I really must be going. Now, at least you know who you’re _dealing_ with.”

There was another whirlwind of frozen dust, and Steaphan and his blade were gone. Nia and the platoon stood dumbfounded as the rest of the Reubaltaich fled along with their captain.

“No!” Mòrag shouted as she began to make chase.

“Lady Mòrag, stop!” cried Brighid. The blade ran after her and pulled her back by her good arm. “Please, you’re injured. We’ll send scouts after them instead.”

She whipped around to glare at her blade. “What? I— I can’t just—”

“I know how you feel, but please. Your arm needs tending to immediately.”

Mòrag looked at her arm. The adrenaline coursing through her body during the fight had made her almost forget about it, but then she noticed how painful it was. The skin around the wound had been frozen from the sheer power of the ice mastery behind it, and it was still bleeding quite heavily. It would definitely require stitches. Defeated, she swallowed thickly and nodded. Brighid gave her a look of reassurance before guiding her back to the clearing.

Pandoria had managed to take the spear from Zeke’s leg and had him leaning on her shoulder. Nia and the majority of the platoon seemed relatively unharmed. Brighid helped direct Mòrag to the storage house so they could recollect themselves.

“Was anyone killed?” Mòrag asked her top soldier.

“No, ma’am. Only seven were majorly injured.”

The soldiers that were also medics quickly got to work on stabilizing any deep wounds. Nia had both Mòrag and Zeke sit down so that she could partially heal them. As the wounds were external, Nia had said they would still require stitches and antiseptic though she managed to seal them enough so that they stopped bleeding. Mòrag sighed loudly and leant her head against the storage house.

“You OK?” Zeke said to her.

Mòrag made a muffled noise as a response. “I should have caught him. I failed.”

“Hey, come off it. You didn’t know there’d be a load of soldiers waiting for you. They deliberately got you in the middle of the night so you’d be tired, from the looks of things. Don’t beat yourself up.”

She supposed that was true, yet she still felt the heavy weight of defeat on her shoulders.

Soon after, her troops reported that there had been nothing left in the storage house. The Reubaltaich had taken advantage of the chaos of the earlier battle to take their remaining supplies with them while the others were distracted. As there were only 25 Ardainian soldiers, they could not hope to fight 40 Reubaltaich and prevent them _all_ from escaping. Well, around a dozen were dead, either shot to death or had been burned alive by Mòrag’s fire, but they couldn’t get any prisoners to further interrogate.

Exhaustion swept over them all like a wave. Zeke was almost falling asleep and even Mòrag could feel herself dropping off if she held her eyes closed too long. That was then Brighid helped her stand after bandaging her arm.

They slowly made their way back to their campground. Ten soldiers offered to take shifts to guard them for the rest of the night, so they could sleep without worrying about being ambushed for a second time.

“Finally,” Nia groaned as she flopped down into her sleeping bag.

They all fell asleep immediately. Mòrag couldn’t blame them, it was around five in the morning by now. She rolled onto her left side so that she wouldn’t have to sleep on her injured arm, now facing away from them. It was better this way. That meant they couldn’t see the pain of failure on her face.

Mòrag dug her hands into the blanket and tried to push the feelings of uselessness out of her mind as she finally slipped away.

* * *

 

“What do we do now, Captain?”

Steaphan had to stop and catch his breath once the Reubaltaich had travelled for enough. He glanced at the rising sun and wiped his hand against his brow.

“I suppose we head back to Raghnall,” he said to his troop. “It’s unfortunate we lost some of our men, but I didn’t expect to kill Ladair on our first try.”

He looked back at his group. Many were injured. They’d managed to grab the remainder of their weapons and supplies, having already transported most of it away before Mòrag had found them. The ambush had been a good opportunity to do so. They had completed their mission, regardless of their losses. Raghnall had instructed them to merely warn Mòrag, as he knew all too well what she was capable of. If she had been at full strength, she would have slaughtered them all.

The Captain shuddered at the thought. He had gotten way too close. Memories of her fire scorching his skin were still fresh in his mind. He was lucky to be alive.

“Soldiers!”

They snapped to attention. Steaphan surveyed them, and then hummed in approval. They were still in decent enough shape to keep going.

“We travel south, to our base closer to Gormott. The Special Inquisitor knows what she’s dealing with by now, we’ve succeeded in our task.”

Raghnall already had plans to gather more allies. Bandits had drastically increased in number as of late, and they would make the perfect soldiers. If they were promised money and glory, then they’d fight for any force willing to give them that reward. A good number of them already had their own blades. Not to mention, there were also many Gormott citizens that resented Mor Ardain and Uraya. They were confident they’d be eager to join, as well.

“And if we encounter any Urayans, sir?” one soldier asked.

Steaphan sneered. “Kill them, of course.”

* * *

 

Days later, Mòrag had finally gathered enough pride to look people in the eye again.

Travelling back to Alba Cavanich after their failed mission had been agonising. Mòrag had kept her head down and her eyes hidden by her visor, and had refused to speak to anyone about her feelings on the subject. It was obvious to her how she felt. 40 soldiers and one captain should have been child’s play to her. If only she had been more alert, more on guard. She could have defeated them!

Instead, she allowed them to slip through her fingers. Curse her injured arm and her tired mind. The medics back at the palace had told her sternly not to overexert herself if she had an injury like that, but she had to. Once she had been given a few stitches, she’d hidden herself away as much as possible.

Niall had been upset, of course. Mòrag didn’t stick around to speak to him besides from giving him her full report. It seemed like he wanted to check up on her, yet Mòrag couldn’t look at him. She felt too much shame. She’d gotten Padraig and the other remaining captains to sort out their soldiers for her while she spent as much time as she could hiding.

She knew she was being silly, though she never took failure well.

As she made her way through the palace hallways, she almost ran headfirst into Nia as she turned a corner.

“Oh, Mòrag!” Nia said in surprise. “I was on my way to look for you.”

“Is everything alright?” Mòrag asked.

“Well, about that, they want you in the throne room. Someone from Uraya is here.”

Mòrag’s eyebrows shot up. Oh, Architect, what could it be now? She’d only just barely recovered from the days before. Still, she gave Nia a nod of thanks and then hurried on her way.

Who could they be? A politician, or a representative perhaps? Uraya had been fairly quiet since the incident last week. They hadn’t said anything despite Mor Ardain returning their core crystals and giving them the location of their dead soldiers, even though Graull tended to be quite... vocal. She supposed she would just have to wait and see once she got there.

Upon arriving at the throne room, Niall was seated in his throne. His face lit up once he saw her, and while Mòrag felt the urge to hide away, she made herself meet his eye and bowed respectfully once she reached an appropriate distance away from him.

“Special Inquisitor,” Niall started. “A representative of Uraya wishes to discuss some matters with us. I hoped you would assist me in negotiating.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Standing on his left, Mòrag then awaited apprehensively for the representative to enter. Everyone else in the throne room was nervous. Niall’s advisors stood off to the right, anxiously twitching or wringing their hands. There were not many others besides them and the guards, which was probably a good thing. The less people there were to make a fuss, the better time they would have at keeping things under control.

The doors opened. Lead by two guards on either side, a woman entered.

It was no human woman, however. A tall blade sauntered her way down the red carpet. Dressed almost entirely in yellow and white, her blonde hair reached her knees and she walked with confidence. An easy smile graced her lips and her eyes were slanted casually. Once reaching Niall, she got on one knee and crossed her arm over her chest.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” she greeted in a silky voice.

“Eurica, wasn’t it?” Niall said.

The blade tipped her head. “Indeed. I am Eurica, blade to King Graull. I come here as Uraya’s royal ambassador.”

So, this was Graull’s blade? Mòrag looked her up and down. She was definitely _not_ what she had expected. Mòrag knew Graull as a massive brute, yet here stood the daintiest, calmest woman she’d ever come across. She had a knowing look in her eye, too.

“What are the matters you’d wish to discuss?” asked Niall. He kept his friendly outlook, but there was an air of caution around him.

Eurica got to her feet. “I am afraid to announce that we have found more of our slaughtered soldiers along our border, much like the ones you reported last week. Only this time, we have proof that it was _your_ forces, Emperor Niall.”

The emperor gripped his throne’s arm rests. As he swallowed, his advisors looked at each other.

“I see,” Niall eventually ground out. “How… how many did you find?”

“Around 30.”

An advisor gasped. Mòrag’s throat tightened. Allowing the Reubaltaich to escape that night had been her fault. Had she unknowingly let 30 Urayan soldiers die because of her mistakes?

“Would you care to explain this, Your Majesty?” Eurica said, her calm smile never fading. She had such a confident vibe that Niall was feeling beyond uncomfortable, along with everyone else.

“Well, um, we have recently found rebel forces within our army,” Niall responded. When he failed to continue, Mòrag stepped forwards.

“They are Ardainian extremists who are going by the Reubaltaich. I am afraid to inform you that they are out of our control. We apologise for this inconvenience.”

Eura raised a brow. “Oh? If that is the case, why did you not inform us of this before?”

It was now Mòrag’s turn to feel uncomfortable. “We… we are still investigating. We did not know it was our own who caused such actions.”

The blade took a moment to think. Mòrag internally cringed. She knew deep down that hiding the truth would come back to bite them in the ass sooner or later. It had been her idea, too. She stood idly, awaiting Eurica’s response. If she mentioned war, or another awful plan that Graull was pondering, then she didn’t know how she was going to handle it.

Eventually, Eurica regained her relaxed smile.

“Very well. I will report this to King Graull, Your Majesty. I thank you for your time.”

“Wait,” Niall said a little too quickly. Eurica gave him a sharp look. He slunk back down into his throne, fixing his gaze to the floor. “Is he… is he planning on taking action?”

“I cannot say. He will be in touch with his decision once he investigates this Reubaltaich further.” With that, Eurica flounced her way out of the throne room.

The advisors almost went up in hysterics once she left. Niall looked panicked. Mòrag, on the other hand, raced straight out after her.

She couldn’t just let her leave without giving her more to the story. If Eurica simply told Graull that there were Ardainian rebels, then he’d take that as an excuse to attack, no questions asked. Mòrag had to let her know that Niall wanted nothing to do with the Reubaltaich or anything related to violence.

Mòrag caught up with her once they exited the palace. The guards had stopped escorting her once she had left the building, so it was the perfect opportunity to grab the blade alone.

“Hold on,” Mòrag called out. “Please, I must explain further.”

Eurica stopped and slowly turned. “Oh, Special Inquisitor Mòrag, is it not?”

“The emperor really has nothing to do with these extremists,” Mòrag said, standing directly in front of her. Eurica was far taller, looking down on her gently.

“I believe you,” said Eurica.

Mòrag blinked. “What?”

“I very much respect the emperor. He is a good natured young man. It is simply unfortunate that my king tends to act before he thinks.”

She didn’t seem to want to elaborate further. Eurica gave Mòrag a nod of farewell and turned on her heel. Dumbfounded, Mòrag stood rooted in place before she then ran forwards again.

“So you’re happy with Graull just… declaring war? Even though you believe us?” she said.

“If he decides so, yes,” Eurica responded nonchalantly. She then gave Mòrag what seemed to be a look of pity. “I understand. If I could make the decision, then I would be against such a thing. But, alas, I am just his blade, and he is my driver. There is not much I can do.”

“Just… his blade?” Mòrag repeated, an angry edge to her voice. “You are not his _slave_. If you disagree with him, then you don’t have to support him on this!”

The blade retained her calm expression. She merely smiled and tilted her head slightly. “ _Your_ blade supports you no matter your decisions, does she not?”

Mòrag almost stepped back in surprise. Her mind crossed over to thoughts of Brighid. One of her few close friends growing up, and her trustworthy partner since the day she had been awakened. Of course, Brighid had a mind of her own and wasn’t afraid to show it, but Mòrag couldn’t exactly think of a time she outright rebelled or disrespected her.

She then tried to justify it by thinking that she would never declare a war over nothing, but it was too late. Eurica was already on her way to leaving.

The frustration that had been building up inside her for weeks was coiling in her stomach, climbing its way up to her throat. Mòrag spun around, seething. She unleashed part of that frustration by throwing her fist at the nearest wall.

She clutched her bleeding knuckles. That had probably been a mistake.

What the hell was she going to do now? Just accept the fact that war was inevitable? Mòrag began pacing outside restlessly. She was beyond stressed. She didn’t think she’d been this stressed in her life. This was _Elysium_ , the last gift that the Architect had been kind enough to give them, and the fact that a bratty manchild with too much power was going to ruin it _drove her up the wall_.

Mòrag was so blind with fury that she didn’t see or hear Brighid coming up to stand next to her. She would have jumped, though being as angry as she was, she merely whipped her head to face her, teeth gritted.

“What happened to your hand?” asked Brighid in her usual soft voice.

“It doesn’t matter,” Mòrag grumbled. Brighid pursed her lips.

“Are you alright, Lady Mòrag?”

What a stupid question. Mòrag rolled her eyes and let go of her bloodied hand. She clenched her fists.

“Of course I’m not alright, Brighid.” She then turned herself to face her blade fully. “Graull’s blade just walked out of the palace, now _knowing_ about the Reubaltaich, and it is _extremely_ unlikely Graull will let that slide. Half of the army have betrayed us, and I’m going to have to deal with a _fucking war_ —”

She gasped when she felt Brighid reach out and grab onto her shoulders firmly. Her pursed lips had now turned into a worried frown.

“Listen. We _will_ get through this.” Her voice was still delicate, but she sounded desperately concerned.

Mòrag bit her lip and looked down. “No, Brighid. Our luck’s ran out. People are going to _die_ because I can’t do my _job_ —”

“Lady Mòrag, _look at me_.”

She slowly raised her head. Shame crushed Mòrag’s chest when she saw how troubled Brighid looked. She held her breath when her blade began to reprimand her.

“I know you’re still upset about the Reubaltaich escaping, but you must pull yourself together, for your _own_ sake. You are the Special Inquisitor of Mor Ardain. Think of where your country would be without your assistance. Think of where Rex would be without you, or the emperor, or _myself._ One loss doesn’t nullify all the good you’ve done and continue to do.”

Her throat was so tight it was difficult to swallow, though Mòrag made herself and then hardened her expression. “Yes… yes, you’re right.” She then looked Brighid in the eye. “Forgive me. I have been finding it difficult to keep my emotions under control as of late.”

Brighid let go of her shoulders and gave her a smile. “It happens to the best of us.”

The anger that was burning her up from moments ago seemed to dissipate into the air. Brighid had her ways at getting one to calm down and think. So, Mòrag fixed her hat more firmly on her head and clasped her hands behind her back, as she usually did.

“I should discuss matters with His Majesty. We must prepare a plan for anything dire that may occur soon.”

She began to make her way back inside, Brighid held out a hand to stop her.

“Oh, Lady Mòrag? Since I mentioned Rex, there is something I wish to tell you. He is on his way here as we speak.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brighid is my mother and yes finally rex is on his way asjhdkfjhg


	6. Arrival of the Aegis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The full gang is finally reunited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, i did not mean for this to take over a week. i got distracted with essays and pokemon. this chapter is not great but yknow. also i wasted time by drawing a picture of zeke and pandoria if ur interested: https://corvusam.tumblr.com/post/184563577955/

 

Brushing the grass from her skirts, Mythra stood atop a hill and surveyed the area. Neo-Mor Ardain’s border was only about half a mile away, judging from the long stretch of forest ahead of her and the faint sight of buildings at the end of it. She put her hands on her hips and watched as Rex and Tora struggled to clamber up to join her.

“Tora’s feet hurt,” the Nopon complained.

As Rex got to the top, he puffed his cheeks out and gazed at the vast forest below them. “We’re… almost there… I’m sure of it.”

“It’s still a way ‘til Alba Cavanich, sadly,” said Pyra.

Rex groaned loudly. The two blades, along with Poppi, ignored their drivers’ griping and focused on the task at hand.

They had been fairly disappointed that they couldn’t set out immediately. Zeke’s letter sounded urgent, after all. The man couldn’t write to save his life regardless, but his handwriting was even worse than usual. It was mere luck that Nia was available and had offered to go while they finished up in Leftheria.

Despite being a small nation without a proper government, Leftheria were beginning to settle themselves well. At first reluctant to move their villages from their home titans, in the past six months they were finding their feet on the fresh ground. Mythra had supposed that they were simply overwhelmed to see such a huge landmass ahead of them when they had been so used to their tiny dotted islands. She could understand that, really. She remembered how strange it was to not see the land moving at a gradual pace.

They, along with Nia and Dromarch, had remained with the village of Fonsett as they had become so heavily reliant on Rex to help them. It wasn’t as if it was a bother, per se, they were more than happy to assist. Rex, along with both of his blades, got their own house, and Nia was looking at finding a permanent place in Neo-Gormott. Tora seemed happy with drifting for the moment. Thus reading the hastily-written letter Zeke had sent them had been quite the shock.

The five slid down the hillside and tumbled into the forest below. Azurda had been kind enough to give them a lift as far as this, but then Rex insisted he go back to Leftheria to keep an eye on things as their personal guardian, not knowing how far away their destination actually was.

“I swear, when I get my hands on those rebel forces,” Rex muttered as he made his way through the trees on autopilot mode. He’d already had his fair share of Elysium’s overgrown gardens in the past two years.

“Wonder why they’re even rebelling in the first place,” said Mythra to herself.

“Why would soldiers rebel in Elysium?” Tora piped in, lagging behind. When he became too slow, Poppi picked him up and began carrying him. “Poppi, put Tora down!”

“Better if Poppi carry Masterpon if want to reach Alba Cavanich before sundown.”

As Mythra sniggered and Pyra tried to get Poppi to release the squirming Tora, Rex carried on. “Y’know, she’s probably right. We’ll never get there at this pace.”

“Well, squabbling isn’t going to help,” Pyra responded. Rex had to give her his respects. She tried so hard to keep their little dysfunctional group in line.

She had almost wrangled Tora from Poppi’s iron grip before there was a bright flash, and the artificial blade was sent flying backwards.

“Whoa, what was that?” Rex yelled.

Tora scrambled to his feet and ran over to Poppi. She was dazed, but unharmed. Both of the Aegis’ leapt around to their right. At first, there seemed to be nothing besides plants, though there _had_ to be something. Whatever had hit Poppi was nothing natural.

“Show yourself,” Mythra snarled as the green on her body lit up. Rex drew his sword, standing next to her.

A screaming bandit, wielding an ether cannon, leapt out from the undergrowth and tackled them. Immediately, Rex hurled him into a tree, not even having to use an Art.

There had been pros and cons to Mythra and Pyra separating. The pro was that they could both link with Rex at the same time rather than having to switch, allowing him to use all of their Arts in a far more timely manner with more power. On the other hand, there had been no way to join them again, thus sealing away the power of Pneuma and the true Aegis.

Rex didn’t seem to mind. He had been so happy to have them back that he couldn’t care less how much power they gave him. It was evident in the new fighting style he had developed with them lately.

The battered bandit groggily clambered to his feet after his blade tried to assist him. Several more tumbled out, some with blades and some without, but all armed. However, the thing that made them all similar was their black and red attire with scraps of Ardainian armour on their shoulders. On their chests, arms and backs was a crude imitation of the Ardainian emblem, turned upside down.

One of them took one look at Rex and his surrounding group, and panicked. “Maybe it’s not a good idea to attack them all together...”

“Moron, that Ardainian captain said it would be fine,” said another, presumably their leader.

As Mythra’s markings glowed fiercely, she gave the men a disapproving frown. “That one’s smart. You should listen to him.”

Holding his sword ahead of him, Rex grit his teeth. “What’s the big deal? Why’d you attack us?”

The leader grinned toothily. “We know all about you, driver of the Aegis. We were told not to let you get any further than this.”

“What is Tora, chopped liver?” Tora, almost forgotten, blurted out.

They turned their eyes to the inverted Ardainian emblem. It was not made from the fine brass work that actual soldiers like Mòrag wore, instead being stitched patterns or old scraps of armour. However, these were not soldiers. The way they hastily attacked and their roughed up appearance gave away that fact. So, why were they wearing that symbol?

“Are you the rebel soldiers from Mor Ardain?” Rex asked cautiously.

“Not quite, but they sure were eager to have us on board. Gave us a _lot_ of money to take care of anyone else who gets in their way.”

The bandit leader, wielding a pair of knuckle claws, flexed his fingers. His companions looked a little nervous, especially the one that had spoken earlier, but they didn’t dare disobey his command to attack.

Both Mythra and Pyra pulsed with power, flowing their Affinity through to their driver. Most of the bandits went for him, while another two circled Tora. It didn’t seem to be a problem for either of them, though.

It was only moments until every bandit fell to the floor.

Neither Rex nor Tora had broken a sweat. Bandits were really nothing to be feared for them at this point. The leader was struggling to compose himself before Rex pointed his sword at him, a scowl plastered on his face. “Tell me what’s going on before I make you.”

“Ask the Ardainians, not us!” snapped the bandit. As Rex’s blade hovered closer, he squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t know, ok? Mor Ardain have these rebel soldiers on the outskirts. They offered us money and resources if we joined them. I don’t _know_ what they’re fighting for.”

“That does explain that symbol,” commented Pyra, nodding to the inverted emblem.

“Must be rebels that Zeke mentioned,” said Tora, peeking around Rex.

Rex turned to the group. “Well? What should we do with them?”

“We can’t really take them to the capital with us,” Mythra scoffed as she looked down on them. “Just leave the the pathetic idiots. We’ll find them again.”

“You heard her. Get lost. If I catch you working with those rebels again, I won’t be nearly as nice.”

The bandits yelped as Rex sent a small blast of fire their way as they scrambled to their feet. Their leader followed them back into the dense undergrowth, giving the group one last look of disdain before he disappeared from view.

“Tora hope that was right decision,” murmured Tora worriedly.

The Nopon had a point. Those bandits could easily recover from the fight and hurt someone else. Except, Rex still had very strong morals on killing people, and like Mythra had said, they couldn’t drag them all to the capital, as it was miles away. They’d already lost a chunk of daylight because of the interruption.

“It’s fine, Tora. I doubt they’ll try anything else for a while.”

* * *

 

At around 11 o’clock that night, Mòrag, Zeke, and Nia, along with their blades, were gathered around a large table. In the strategy room, it was dark, lit only by the dull lamps around them. Several guards stood at the door on standby.

Zeke blinked tiredly as he cast his eyes over the drawn out plans. They mostly consisted of maps. As Neo-Mor Ardain was still being charted, simply getting an accurate idea of where their outposts were had taken more time than it should have. After they had marked the borders, they then had to scout out where they had built their stations, and then that left with pinpointing where the Reubaltaich _could_ have gone.

Mòrag pointed to the south end of the country’s map. “Very well, so we have narrowed down our options to Sgarlaid Woods,” her finger traced up to the southeast, “Drochaid Gheal,” then it settled at the very top, “or the Reultan Pass.”

“Them lot could be hiding in any one of those places,” muttered Nia, her head resting on the table.

“I’m aware of that,” replied Mòrag with a hint of sarcasm, “but these are the only places that we’ve had things built. The rest are untouched.”

“Would the Reubaltaich not hide where there is more cover, then?” said Dromach.

“It’s a possibility, except they haven’t had enough time to build their own stations. They’d have to use ours if they wanted it to be reliable.”

“I think we should call it a night, we’ve been working for hours,” Zeke said as he yawned, stretching his arms above his head.

Mòrag sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Alright. I’ll have patrols scheduled for tomorrow morning. We have enough soldiers to send to two of the aforementioned places, so I’ll choose one for us to visit in the meantime.”

Both Nia and Zeke jumped up at the chance to head to bed. Not that they were early sleepers, but strategizing for hours took a toll on one’s mental state. Brighid watched as Mòrag gathered their maps and documents into a neat pile.

After her small outburst earlier, she’d watched her driver carefully. Mòrag had seemingly returned to her usual state, though it worried Brighid that she insisted on continuing working so hard. She’d hardly stopped since the afternoon. So, she stepped forwards before Mòrag could begin making more arrangements.

“Lady Mòrag, I’m offering to give one of the captains the order to schedule patrols for tomorrow instead.”

She expected Mòrag to argue with her, though it seemed like she was too exhausted. She nodded gratefully. “Then, I thank you, Brighid. Have them scout out Drochaid Gheal and the Reultan Pass. I’ll leave our investigation of Sgarlaid Woods for another few days.”

As she left, Mòrag saw Brighid call over the guards at the door. She turned her head and made her way from the strategy room back to the palace’s upper floors. Zeke, Nia and the others had already disappeared. They deserved their rest. They had been kind enough to agree to assist them further, so Mòrag couldn’t be too strict.

Mòrag deemed it safe enough to drop her guard and slump her shoulders as she walked, until she passed by one of the palace’s large front windows.

The sky had been dark for hours, and the gentle red light of Alba Cavanich’s lanterns illuminated the town nicely. The courtyard below was almost entirely empty, besides from the lone guard, and two glowing green figures heading for the gates. Accompanying them were a young man, a blade, and a Nopon.

The Special Inquisitor slapped a hand to her forehead. She had almost forgotten that Rex was supposed to be arriving tonight. Adjusting her uniform so that she appeared more presentable, she made a u-turn for the stairs.

“I’m telling you, Rex, we should stay at the _inn_ —”

“They need us _now_ , Mythra!”

They were already squabbling by the time Mòrag got outside. The guards had thankfully allowed them to enter without a fuss, which Mòrag was glad of, yet she couldn’t deal with another load of arguments after today.

Rex looked over to see her. He cracked a smile and waved. “Hey, it’s Mòrag!”

“Rex, how are you all faring?”

The teenager put his arms behind his head as he drawled about what he’d done in Leftheria. The last time Mòrag had seen him was over a year ago, so she was stunned at how tall he’d gotten. His hair was a little longer, and his arms more muscular. It was nice to see him looking healthy. Mythra and Pyra stood behind him, looking just like they always did. Tora and Poppi had also hardly changed in their appearances, unsurprisingly. The pair were nearby, except Tora was almost falling asleep.

Once Rex had finished talking, Mòrag ushered them inside. She had a servant get a room for both Tora and Poppi, while Rex and his blades were awake enough to discuss things for a moment.

“Look, I know it’s late, and I don’t want to keep you up,” Rex began, “but we ran into these bandits on the way here.”

Mòrag arched a brow. “Bandits?”

“Yeah, except, they weren’t the usual kind. They were wearing the Ardainian emblem, and they said they were working with those rebels Zeke mentioned.”

Well, that made Mòrag’s night more complicated. She frowned as she digested the new information.

“And these were not soldiers that you encountered instead?” she asked hesitantly.

“Oh, they were bandits alright,” Mythra added. “Although, one mentioned a captain paid them to join him.”

Rex blinked as Mòrag swore under her breath. It was only then that he took notice of how tired she was. Her hair was limp, and her eyes had bags under them. He suddenly felt guilty for dumping that information on her when she probably could have done without it for the moment. He held his hands up.

“Er, don’t worry about it, Mòrag. We dealt with them. We can talk about it more in the morning.”

“Are you sure that they won’t be an immediate threat?”

The driver chewed on his lip, but he looked fairly confident. “I’m sure. They weren’t strong or anything.”

Mòrag slowly nodded. “Very well. I’ll have rooms prepared for you, then.”

No more was said. Mòrag left them with an attendant, who hurriedly found them their own suites. There was one for Rex and then one for the two Aegis’, though for the moment, they huddled in Rex’s room.

Pyra had perched on the bed while Mythra gazed out of the window idly. Rex was exploring the suite, rifling through the draws and cupboards.

“I think this is bigger than it sounds,” Pyra said after a moment. “We should be prepared.”

“For bandits? Come off it, Pyra,” Mythra scoffed.

Once Rex was finished rooting around, he stood up and faced them. “Well, you never know. Mòrag looked pretty upset to me. We’ll just have to ask her tomorrow.”

Still, thoughts of the bandits from earlier clouded their minds. They were nowhere near strong enough to be a threat, only wielding common blades with limited skill at best. The dangerous part was how quickly they had united under the rebels’ command. The fact they had already taken the Ardainian emblem and made a mockery of it. If they had gotten lowly thieves to band together like that, then who knows what they’d achieve with more time? Elysium’s size had only doubled the number of bandits eager to take advantage of more places to hide. There was nothing to say that the rebels wouldn’t cross over into other countries seeing as they had no respect for their own.

Rex tried to push it to the back of his mind as his blades retired to their own suite for the night. It was enjoyable to be back with his old friends again, even if the situation wasn’t for fun. He had to think about that and that alone, otherwise he’d never be able to sleep.

* * *

 

Everyone seemed a little better the next day. Zeke and Pandoria had spent most of the morning catching up with the new arrivals. It had been nice, bonding in the palace cafeteria over much improved Ardainian food. They had always been reluctant to eat anything back on the Ardainian titan, so they had been glad to find out the chefs had been experimenting with Elysium’s bountiful harvests as of late.

Tora hadn’t even set foot in Neo-Mor Ardain until now, so he had been excitedly exploring since he had woken up. They had all been given the five star treatment as friends of both the Special Inquisitor and the driver of the Aegis.

Mòrag had been busy with Brighid in getting some patrols set up. It was almost midday by the time she managed to join them.

“Good morning,” she started. “I apologise for not having much time to formally greet you five last night.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. It was late.” Rex grinned at her.

Something about Rex’s optimism always made her feel more cheerful. Mòrag smiled back, probably for the first time in a while. She herself felt more rested and was glad she had a solid plan on the way. Mòrag took a seat next to them and cleared her throat.

“I’ve sent out patrols to search the north and eastern sides of the country for anymore bandits. That leaves us with the southern end of Neo-Mor Ardain, near Neo-Gormott.”

“Great, maybe we can ask them for help,” Rex chimed in.

Zeke winced. “Uh, it won’t exactly be that easy, chum.”

“Why not? Surely they would lend a hand to get rid of some bandits?”

Ah, she had forgotten that she hadn’t told Rex everything yet. Mòrag exchanged nervous glances with Zeke and Nia as she rested her hands on the table. Rex stared back at her, gold eyes wide.

“You see, Rex…” she trailed off.

All he knew was that there were some rebellious soldiers in the Ardainian army. He had no idea about Graull threatening war, or how dangerous the Reubaltaich were getting. He knew nothing of the slaughtered Urayan soldiers or Steaphan’s assault on them. It was going to be an awkward conversation.

As Mòrag explained the situation in more clarity, the smile on Rex’s face faded. Everyone watched as his fingers tightened into angry fists as Mòrag brought up Graull’s bloodthirst and violent antics.

“You’re telling me,” Rex said quietly, “that the Urayan king wants _war_ , after _everything_ we’ve done to get here?”

“He’s just got a few screws loose. It’s got nothing to do with what we’ve done,” said Nia in her usual sarcastic tone, but there was a hint of anxiety seeing as how Rex was almost red with fury.

“Of course it does!” Rex cried out as he slammed his fist against the wood. Everyone jumped. “Everyone’s sacrificed so much for Elysium. The whole reason we’ve come here is to put an _end_ to the fighting!”

Rex flinched when he felt Zeke’s hand on his shoulder. “We know, chum. We all feel the same way.”

“And your soldiers are rebelling because you _won’t_ go to war with Uraya? They’re all insane!”

Mòrag stood up, trying to give him her best assuring look. “Don’t worry, Rex. We’re doing everything we can to stop this. It will just take some rational thinking and careful planning.”

“Who needs that when I can just go to Neo-Uraya right now and kick his arse?” he grumbled.

Chuckling, Mòrag put her hands behind her back. “Unfortunately, we can’t do that. However, you’re more than welcome to join us on a patrol to Sgarlaid Woods to further investigate the rebels. We’ll be leaving in several days, so there is time for you to recuperate after your trip. Are you up for it?”

It took a moment for him to calm down, but after glaring at the floor and curling and uncurling his fists, Rex blew out a breath and met the Special Inquisitor’s gaze with one of his confident smirks. _That_ was much more like him. Both Mythra and Pyra nodded in agreement alongside him.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”


	7. Lineage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mòrag and her team catch Urayan soldiers harassing the Gormotti. An investigating leads to an opportunity they could take advantage of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit as of 16/05/19: so, i was informed that morag and niall are actually cousins, but the whole situation is still confusing to me. i've made some edits to the conversation discussing mor ardain's inheritence system, but the game and wiki aren't very clear about their lineage and if they prefer male heirs or not. if i've made some factual errors, let me know.

It seemed Rex was barely able to contain his excitement as the group crouched in the reddened foliage of Sgarlaid Woods. The teen was rocking on his heels, watching carefully as a group of Urayan soldiers marched past.

“What are they up to?” whispered Nia suspiciously. She narrowed her eyes as the soldiers swivelled their heads to and fro, searching for something.

Mòrag nudged her to keep quiet. All 11 of them had decided to venture out together seeing as there were little Ardainian soldiers to spare, so remaining stealthy had so far been a bit of an issue. The upside was that Sgarlaid Woods was enriched with fire-coloured flora and loud, shrieking animals to drown out their footsteps. Getting there hadn’t been a problem, though they had not prepared themselves to find Urayan soldiers rather than their original target.

In fact, there had been no sign of the Reubaltaich in the past several days. Mòrag had sent out as many patrols, scouts and guards as was safe to do so, yet, however, the Reubaltaich were very good at covering their tracks.

Still, Urayan soldiers were an odd sight, especially as they were outside of Neo-Uraya’s borders. Sgarlaid Woods was right between Neo-Mor Ardain and Neo-Gormott, and now, the soldiers were just about to trespass on the latter’s territory.

Mòrag frowned as she watched the group make their way forwards. They were armed heavily, with a similar aggression to Graull’s coming from them. They were looking for a fight.

Despite Rex almost vibrating from apprehension, and Zeke and Nia behind her trying to get closer with no sense of covertness, Mòrag held them back. It would not do well to attack, as they were no longer in the safety of Neo-Mor Ardain. While it was officially Gormotti land, the laws were still vague. Just like Mor Ardain, they didn’t have enough of a population to guard their now enormous country.

The Urayans murmured to each other through their ridiculous bulky helmets. It was hard to make out, but Mòrag caught a few words.

“His Majesty wants to set an example,” one said.

The other grumbled and responded, “Let’s hope they take us more seriously than the Ardainians.”

Zeke almost knocked Mòrag over as he scrambled on his hands and knees to shuffle closer. “Did you hear that? What if they’re after Gormott?”

“Just keep quiet and _watch_ ,” she hissed.

Brighid placed a hand on Zeke’s shoulder. “Let us wait for them to commit an act so we may catch them red handed in the process.”

As the prince scowled, Mòrag kept herself tense as she heard more footsteps from up ahead. She ushered the others to keep their heads low. Perhaps it was the long-awaited Reubaltaich. Finally, a chance to see them in the act.

To say that she was almost disappointed to see someone else was somewhat true. Not a mere civilian or bandit, but fully armoured Gormotti drivers.

Their armour was tinted in shades of dark green and gold to match their country’s emblem. Gormott never had much of an army seeing as they had been dominated by Mor Ardain for so many years, though since Elysium, Niall had given them their independence, seeing as their titan was no longer needed for immigration purposes. It had been good for them to finally develop a military force with properly armed soldiers.

They had to be on patrol, stalking along Neo-Gormott’s borders. Most were quite young and were chatting amongst themselves happily.

The Urayan soldiers’ eyes lit up when they came across them. The group watched carefully at a safe distance, ready to jump in if a fight ensued. For the moment, however, there seemed to be tension, but no violence.

One of the Gormotti nudged their allies. “Look, it’s Uraya.”

Their captain turned their head and looked surprised. Clearly they had not been expecting other nations so close to their country. Neo-Uraya was close, although not close enough to be touching.

“Can we assist you, soldiers of Uraya?” the captain spoke up. Most of them looked anxious.

The Urayan leader smirked. “No need, we are merely setting our boundaries. It seems you Gormotti are a little too far out of your way.”

Oh dear. Rex, now pissed off beyond what he already was, gnashed his teeth. These Urayans were deliberately causing trouble.

Standing firm, the Gormotti captain became confused. “You seem to be mistaken. We are within Neo-Gormott’s restrictions. However, _you_ are trespassing. I will ask you kindly to return to home, unless you are here on official business.”

“Hah!” the Urayan leader guffawed. “I don’t think so. You see, our King has had enough dealing with Mor Ardain’s nonsense, so we can’t be too careful in securing our lands. Gormott needs to know where their place is, at the very least.”

“They can’t just _do_ that!” Rex spat through his teeth.

Of course they couldn’t, but Graull’s specialty lay in not playing fair. He was not a man of honour or abiding the law, to say the least. Mòrag readied herself by placing her hands on her swords. It didn’t surprise her that he had sent his men to harass Gormott. If he was bold enough to threaten Mor Ardain, arguably the strongest nation in Elysium and in the past, Alrest, then Gormott must seem like a game to him.

She supposed the fact that Gormott was now an independent nation was another tempting factor. With no Mor Ardain to go through war-wise, then Uraya could easily best them.

“Just what is King Graull suggesting?” the Gormotti captain challenged. His soldiers looked at each other nervously. They were about equal in number to the Urayans, though that didn’t determine a victory.

“Well, seeing as we’ve only been on Elysium for two years, it is taking some time to set things up. A conquest of Mor Ardain is planned and one for Gormott is too. _Unless_ , you are willing to be compliant. Do be a good lad and take that into consideration. The king has more important matters to attend to than deal with you himself.”

“How dare you speak to us like that!” the captain roared, the synergy between him and his blade flaring. “We will not be intimidated by empty threats!”

Before anyone in Mòrag’s group could take action, the Urayans and the Gormati were at each other's throats. Blades charged their drivers with energy and the soldiers began firing Arts in all directions. The Urayans were stronger, yet far more erratic than their nimble counterparts.

Rex turned to Mòrag desperately. Well, no time like the present. She jumped to her feet.

“Enough of this!” she cried out.

Both of the leaders turned to stare at her, the fire and ice still wrapped around their weapons. The Gormottii spoke, “Wait, the Flamebringer?”

Some of the Gormotti soldiers looked happy to see her, while others just looked more fearful. That was to be expected. She was one of many symbols of their 50 year long subjugation.

“Loyalists of Graull, I will not allow you to harass others,” Mòrag said sternly. Her whipswords were drawn, crackling with cyan embers. “Did your king even give explicit permission to trespass into Neo-Gormott?”

The Urayan leader growled in frustration. “Just what the hell are _you_ doing here?”

“Trying to stop thugs like you,” Rex snarled as he joined Mòrag’s side. Slowly, the rest of the group spilled forth to form a defensive line between the Urayans and the Gormotti.

“The Aegis?” a soldier spluttered. Mythra looked smug.

They turned to their leader. The man was significantly less confident now that he caught sight of Rex, Mythra and Pyra, not to mention the Tantal Prince and two other powerful fighters that he was well informed of.

“Mor Ardain will be taking into account that you are threatening Gormott as well,” said Mòrag.

“You’re trespassing on Gormott land too!” the captain yelled back in retaliation.

That was partially true. They were not technically fully within Neo-Gormott, but they were close enough to cause problems, seeing as how the captain had wanted the Urayans to step back. Still, he didn’t look displeased to see them intervene.

“We were tracking those rebel soldiers, but we just ended up finding you instead. Too bad for you,” muttered Mythra, checking her nails.

The Urayan seemed to gain a little bit of confidence at the mention of the Reubaltaich. For a moment, Mòrag’s heart leapt up to her throat in fear, having thought they didn’t already know. Then thoughts of Eurica crept back into her mind. She’d already informed them that she would let Graull know of their existence, so surely his loyalists would know by now. The man grinned and used his weapon to gesture to the Gormotti.

“Ah, yes. Your rebels. Try and protect Gormott all you like, but how are they going to trust _you_ when you can’t even trust your _own_ army?”

The Gormotti glanced at her. Mòrag swallowed the guilt and embarrassment that had building up in her for the millionth time this month. She’d already blamed herself enough for the Reubaltaich’s ermergance, and she wasn’t going to hear the same thing from a soldier who followed a demented monarch.

She lashed her swords into whips, giving a nod to Brighid. Her blade stood alert, silently standing behind her.

“You will regret this audacity.”

The Urayan soldier yelped as she went for him. Rex let out a battle cry that had been stuck inside him for days, the others following suit. It took a few short seconds for the Gormotti to eventually joined in the fray.

Their group plus the Gormotti would be more than enough to take the Urayans down. Mòrag didn’t even glance upwards, instead focusing on wrangling the soldier beneath her. He was bulky, but not particularly strong. It didn’t take much for Mòrag to knock his helmet off, revealing his scaly face.

He bared his teeth. “You’re not going to _win_ , Flamebringer.”

Blood flew from his mouth after Mòrag punched him. “You’re a moron. Both you and your king are fools for wanting meaningless war. Why can’t you be happy with the gift the Architect has given us?”

“You’re the ones murdering _us_ ! Don’t act like Mor Ardain has _ever_ been innocent!”

Mòrag held her fist in the air to think about it. Their two nations had never really gotten along, yet surely, there was more to this than a simple grudge. She knew Graull wasn’t right in the head, but his influence had been so strong on his people that they were willing to sacrifice Elysium’s peace for his need for revenge.

The Urayan took advantage of her momentary hesitation and bucked her off. Mòrag felt the wind being knocked out of her as the enormous weight of his armour almost crushed her. The feeling of her ribs cracking would have made her scream if only she had air in her lungs. Throwing back her head, Mòrag gasped for Brighid’s help.

The blade looked furious. Unleashing a torrent of fire, she sent the Urayan into howls of pain. She kicked him to the floor and spat, “Don’t _touch_ my driver.”

The rest of them had already been defeated. Either knocked out cold or attempting to limp away to safety, the leader was the only one left who wasn’t half unconscious or beyond that. As he tried to crawl back into the confines of Sgarlaid Woods, the Gormotti captain pressed his boot on on his back.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he snarled. “You will account for your actions against us today.”

“My king won’t let you get away with it,” the soldier coughed out.

As Nia raced over to heal Mòrag’s broken ribs, she frowned at the Gormotti captain. She had never been brave enough to make the decision to take any Urayans prisoner at present, fearing Graull would overreact. It wasn’t necessarily a sign of aggression, but of course, he would take it as one. Even before they were at war prior to now, they would frequently take prisoners should they get too cocky with one another.

The captain gave Mòrag a bow of the head in respect once she was fully healed and standing. “I thank you, Flamebringer. You have been a great assistance today. Tell me, do you know anything of this? Is Uraya truly planning a war?”

“Their king is a bit, er, how do you put it…” Zeke began, putting a hand to his chin.

“Batshit insane?” Pandoria suggested.

The prince snorted. “That’s it.”

“It would take time to explain,” Mòrag said. “If Gormott is interested, then I can give you a rundown of our situation.”

“I think this is an issue the Chancellor must know about,” said the captain. “I will have someone send a message. In the meantime, you are welcome to rest up at one of our nearby stations, Special Inquisitor.”

How nice this Gormotti was being was surprising. Not that they were an aggressive race, perhaps being some of the most peaceful races in Alrest, or rather, Elysium, but Mòrag knew how many of them felt about her and her country. She did her best to give the man a smile.

“That would be very much appreciated, Captain…?”

“Afon,” he introduced.

“Glad you guys are all sane,” Rex commented. Pyra nudged him in the side as a reminder to remain polite. “Ow. Sorry, it’s just, with all the bandits lately…”

Afon chuckled in amusement. “I understand. I’ve heard the new Urayan king is a little, er, hostile. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised his soldiers are worked up. Come, we can talk further once we take them back to base.”

* * *

 

The Gormott base was far larger than the stations Mor Ardain had set up along its borders. It was made entirely of the thick jungle wood that grew within its boundaries, which basked almost all of the ground in shadow.

They had so far been very accommodating. The boys were clutching their coffee mugs gratefully. Brighid had attempted to get Mòrag to relax for five minutes and take a breather, yet she had insisted on getting straight to business. So she sat next to her driver on the large table opposite Afon, the Gormotti captain.

“The Urayan soldiers have been taken into custody temporarily,” he started. “The Chancellor will contact King Graull about their misdeeds at some point in the next few days.”

Mòrag fidgeted with the visor of her hat. “Then I suggest to be careful with your wording. He will be temperamental.”

“What Chancellor?” Rex blurted out, coffee cream on his upper lip.

“Haven’t you heard?” Nia scoffed. “Gormott’s not under Mor Ardain’s control anymore, are they? So now they have a proper leader, a Chancellor.”

“Oh.” Rex looked sheepish. “You know me. I miss details.”

The Special Inquisitor cleared her throat before they could get distracted. “I’m afraid rebel soldiers within the Ardainian army have sparked Graull’s sudden aggression as of late. We are doing our best to track them, though Elysium is so large, it has been difficult thus far.”

Afon furrowed his eyebrows in thought, his ears flat. “I see. What are these rebels doing, exactly?”

They were silent as Mòrag explained. Rex began to get angry again, while Tora and Poppi looked down, upset. Nia and Zeke were already long used to the situation. They instead watched as Afon took in the facts of the Reubaltaich and what they had discovered in the past few weeks.

Zeke was a little unsure at first. Mòrag had been so against bringing other countries into this, although he supposed it was because Graull were now involving Gormott whether she liked it or not. It was probably a wise decision to extend a friendly hand before they got the wrong idea. It would be easy to mistake the Reubaltaich as an official squadron of Ardainian soldiers.

Luckily, Afon was a kind man. Once Mòrag had finished explaining everything, he nodded slowly.

“I see. This is a very serious predicament. A war would be a disastrous result.”

“The emperor is trying his best to defuse the situation with little success. If the Chancellor of Gormott is willing to negotiate something with him, seeing as Uraya is now involving your country, then let me know.”

“Thought you didn’t want to involve anyone?” Nia piped up, speaking Zeke’s exact thoughts moments ago. He internally cringed.

Mòrag glanced at Nia. “I only do this as Graull is threatening the safety of Gormott as well.”

“That is very gracious of you, Special Inquisitor. While I cannot determine anything, I’m sure that the Chancellor would be willing to discuss an alliance should a war arise.” Afon beamed.

The captain stood to have more things organised, allowing the group to enjoy their break. Mòrag let out a sigh and sank into her chair. _Finally_ , some hopeful news.

Should a war break out, then having Gormott as an ally would be a big win for Mor Ardain. Of course, there were several ways that asking them to agree to an alliance could go, but seeing as they were far more reasonable than Graull, Mòrag didn’t feel too much apprehension.

She turned her thoughts to their leader. After all, she had not yet met their Chancellor.

It had taken Gormott a little longer than the others to get everyone off their titan and settled within their new country. Establishing their own army had been even harder, and then deciding on a proper leader once Niall gave them their independence had also taken several months. Mòrag knew many continued to hold a grudge, yet at least they, as a nation, were willing to forgive and forget for the sake of peace. If only Graull had the sense to do the same.

“Well, this is good!” Rex said happily. “You guys could do with some allies.”

“Nothing has been decided, but yes, if their Chancellor is willing to form an alliance in preparation, then that would be excellent,” replied Mòrag.

Nia held her hands behind her head. “Architect, Mòrag, your job is hellish.”

“That it is.”

“Yeah, you’d probably be better off on the throne,” Zeke added. “Niall looks like he has the easier job.”

Tora batted his cup around. “Mòrag is eldest child, is she not? Then why not Empress?”

“Well, we are technically cousins. Emperor Niall is the child of the previous monarch, my uncle, thus he took the throne,” said Mòrag.

“Huh?” echoed both Rex and Tora at the same time.

“As he had no children of his own at the time, His Majesty's father planned to have Lady Mòrag be his heiress before his own son was born," Brighid explained.

Mythra rolled her eyes. “That's kind of silly. They missed out on a good ruler, there.”

“Mor Ardain sure are set in their ways,” remarked Zeke. He had a knowing smile on his face. “You’d think they’d see sense in this day and age.”

The corner of her mouth twitching, Mòrag stood up suddenly. Her chair scraped along the wooden floors. “That is not our decision to make. Regardless, we’ve stayed here long enough. I must report to His Majesty tonight, so pack your things and get ready to leave.”

As Mòrag marched out of the room, Zeke blinked. “Did I say something?”

“It's best not to criticize the Ardainian custom to her,” Brighid told him.

Right. Zeke took his time getting up, recalling his and Mòrag’s conversation back at the Theoscaldia Palace two years back. He remembered questioning Mòrag’s undying loyalty, simply because he just couldn’t understand tradition and rigid laws himself. It never tended to work out. Not that he didn’t think Niall was a good ruler, because he was. He had done excellently despite his young age and the immense pressures he had been subjected to as of late. It was just that, seeing as how Mòrag was just a capable candidate as he was, being in the same family, he couldn’t see why they would throw that away.

The group quickly got their things and went outside. Mòrag had already bid farewell to Afon and had told him to expect an official message from the emperor soon. She seemed considerably happier now that there was some hope to cling on to, but she avoided Zeke’s line of sight as he stepped out from the station’s entry.

“Uh, sorry about back there,” he said awkwardly as he matched her pace. “I have nothing against Mor Ardain, really. I’m just not a traditionalist kind of guy, y’know?”

She exhaled, though her frown lessened. “I’m aware, Zeke. I sometimes forget we hold different values.”

“You still look a bit upset. You can always talk about the woes of royalty to me, princess to prince.”

She flushed at the comment. Being called a princess was… _odd_.

“Perhaps another time. We have important matters to think about.”

Ah, yes, allying with Gormott. If that could turn out successfully, then even Graull would have to take a step back to think. Gormott were not particularly powerful at this stage of the game seeing as their ruler was newly elected and their army was very small, but they had the resources. A country of that size willing to trade food and lumber with Mor Ardain would be a huge advantage, not to mention Neo-Gormott surrounded Neo-Uraya’s southern side.

The soldier trainees gave them respectful nods as they made their way out of the camp. Many of them were so young and eager to serve their new country that it was saddening. Mòrag hoped that they wouldn’t have to see battle anytime soon.

A sudden yelling caught their attention. The group turned to see three guards wrestling the thrashing Urayan leader from earlier across the campgrounds. He was handcuffed, but he was so large compared to the Gormotti's slender frames that they struggled to keep him under control.

“You idiots can’t trust them!” he roared angrily. “You think it’s their rebel soldiers, but Mor Ardain will turn on you once again! It’s just a matter of time!”

Rex scowled at him. “I wish that bastard would shut up. He has no idea what he’s talking about.”

“They enslaved you for years! How are you even willing to speak to them?” the soldier continued to scream. He then caught sight of Mòrag and tried to make a dive for her, yet he was held back. He tossed his head as his boots threw sand up into the air. “Ardainian bitch, in the upcoming war I’ll make _sure_ you’re destroyed first!”

“Oi,” Zeke barked, drawing his electrified sword. The soldier bit back his next insult at the sight of it. “Can it, before _we_ take you into custody, and trust me, you’re _not_ gonna like that.”

“Ignore him, Mòrag,” Nia said to her. “Graull’s poisoned his mind.”

She said nothing. Mòrag tore her eyes away from the Urayan soldier and kept moving forwards. Scum like him wasn’t worth her time.

Unfortunately, it worried her. He sounded so confident that a war was going to happen no matter what they did. She had been spending her time foolishly praying that Graull was just being dramatic, but now those hopes had vanished.

She would have to give up on praying. The Architect could no longer help them.


	8. O Chancellor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Emperor makes his way to Neo-Gormott to secure an alliance. Meanwhile, the Reubaltaich up their defences.

****“Do you… have any… threes?”

Zeke dramatically tossed his cards in front of him. Niall sat on the opposite side of the table, grinning smugly. There were four sets of cards laid out of him, which he shortly made into five as he collected Zeke’s.

“I don’t understand!” the prince wailed. “How does he keep winning?”

“It’s the Ardainian way,” Brighid taunted playfully from where she stood behind the emperor.

Mòrag watched in amusement as Niall and Zeke prepared themselves for another round of card games. She was especially pleased to see Niall in a good mood.

It had been another week since they had reported back to him. Excited, Niall had jumped on the chance to make friends with Gormott. The two countries had not spoken much since the immigration, and Mòrag knew Niall hadn’t even met the new Chancellor as of yet. She, along with Brighid, Zeke, and Pandoria, sat on board Niall’s private airship. The guards and advisors had made too much fuss about letting anyone else who wasn’t royalty on board, so Rex and the others were following close by in another airship. It was probably for the best; the ship was far smaller than their military vessels.

To further push the good news, the Chancellor of Gormott was receptive. A response had been quick, stating that he wished to speak with Niall himself. Unlike Eurica’s intense interrogation, peace and rationality were guaranteed at this meeting.

And if anything went wrong, then Niall had his sister and the Aegis’ to protect him. It wasn’t a worry.

Neo-Gormott was rapidly swimming into view. The sheer amount of forests and mountains never ceased to be impressive. If Mòrag squinted, she could see the shape of the Gormott titan, half merged with a mountain. Only the shape of its long neck and head were visible now. It should only be a few more years for it to sink fully within Elysium’s earth.

She was so focused on staring at the titan’s outline that she never heard Brighid take a seat besides her.

“I see you’ve been looking a little brighter lately, Lady Mòrag.”

“It’s just nice to have some good news,” Mòrag replied, turning her gaze back to the window. “Though I can only hope the Chancellor of Gormott is as kindly as he sounds in his letter.”

“Nia seems to respect him, so I’m sure we’ll be in good hands.”

Mòrag flicked her eyes over to her brother and Zeke. He had won yet another round of Go Fish and was laughing at Zeke’s theatrical displays of defeat. To see him simply having fun rather than focused on his duties was a much better sight. Niall deserved the break. Mòrag wanted him to have his entire life sheltered from the monstrosities of politics and war, but there was nothing much she could do except support him as his adoptive sister and the Special Inquisitor. For now, that seemed to be working.

It was why she had such high hopes for this afternoon’s meeting. Anything positive would be a big help, no matter how minor it seemed. She would take it without a single complaint.

“Tantal has fallen!” Zeke suddenly cried. Niall had his hands over his mouth to contain his laughter as the prince feigned death. Niall’s advisors were glaring at him, twitching at how informal he was being, but Niall loved it. He might be the emperor yet he was still a 17 year old boy.

Pandoria struggled to haul Zeke’s limp body from the floor. “My prince, please get up!”

Brighid chuckled. “You’d never guess he was royalty,” she said in regards to Zeke.

Once they all felt the judder of the airship lowering, Zeke scrambled to his feet and flashed an awkward grin at Niall’s furious advisors. The emperor stifled any remaining giggles and helped him gather their cards together. Mòrag, along with her blade, stood in preparation for the landing.

“Landing in Neo-Gormott capital, Bryn-Cerrig, in approximately four minutes, Your Majesty,” an attendant announced.

The growing town beneath them had developed significantly in the past two years. Much of it was made from the surrounding forests’ wood, many houses built directly into the large trees and hills. Young Gormotti had gathered to watch the royal Ardainian airship arrive at its harbours. Their faces full of awe and excitement, they squealed as they watched as Zeke gave them a wave.

Niall was surrounded by guards on his way out. Mòrag exited first, giving the Gormotti soldiers a nod. Once Niall stepped outside, Zeke and Pandoria clambered after him.

“First time here, Mòrag?” Zeke called out to her.

“Our first time in the capital, yes.”

Zeke took a sharp inhale of breath. “Sure is great weather here, and just look at all that greenery. Gormott’s titan could never compare to this.”

Indeed, Neo-Gormott was an impressive sight. The air was so fresh that it took Mòrag a second to adjust. Breathing in years of Mor Ardain’s fumes and smog did that to a person.

It was only moments before they were greeted by a representative. Gormotti nobles, dressed in fine green and gold silks, formally introduced Niall to their country. The emperor was polite and silent as they bowed at the waist before discussing the day’s events.

“Chancellor Llewellyn is awaiting your arrival at the City Hall, Your Majesty,” one said.

As Niall was about to confirm, a second airship docked nearby. Ah, of course. That would be Rex’s ship. Mòrag had almost forgotten they were following them. The Gormotti looked a tad surprised to see such a large group spill out of the ship, groaning and complaining about how cramped it was.

“It was unbearable in there!” Nia exclaimed loudly as she fanned herself. “Architect knows how anyone deals with being on one of _those_ for hours on end.”

They were too late to notice the formal meeting in front of them. Once Nia took in the sight of Niall and the Gormotti officials, she flushed bright red. Rex, along with his blades and Tora, awkwardly stood behind her.

“Oh, the driver of the Aegis!” an official said. They all bowed hurriedly. “We were not expecting your company.”

“Don’t mind us,” Rex said a little too casually, “we’re just along for the ride.”

Mòrag decided to step in, seeing as how Nia looked like she would die from embarrassment from barging in unknowingly. It wasn’t as if they were in a private room; everyone was standing out on the open dock. It was probably due to the fact it didn’t _look_ extravagant enough. Since Mòrag was present, Niall only had a handful of guards encircling him rather than the usual two dozen.

“Right…” the official trailed off. “Well, you are all welcome to come to the City Hall, but I’m afraid only His Majesty Emperor Niall, the Special Inquisitor and the Crown Prince of Tantal are permitted to see the Chancellor.”

Rex propped his hands behind his head. “‘Course. Formal business and all that. I guess we’ll wander around town until you guys are done?”

“That would probably be the best decision. We’ll come back for you once we are finished,” Mòrag told him. Mythra and Pyra looked pleased to explore rather than remain cooped up in a stuffy building, so they bounded off, Tora and Poppi close behind them.

Niall watched them go fondly. Mòrag caught the longing look in his eye at the last second before he adorned his mask of formality once again. She understood. If only he could have a day of exploring rather than constantly dealing with legal matters.

They were escorted to the City Hall without much else said. Mòrag marched along the emperor’s guards, automatically alert. It was a natural response at this point, to become more guarded when out in public with Niall. He seemed fairly relaxed, however. He was taking in the view of lush green foliage and buildings under construction as if he hadn’t seen such sights before. Actually, Mòrag didn’t think he’d set foot outside of Alba Cavanich ever since their first few months in Elysium. No wonder he was so mesmerised.

A tad more impressive than the rest of Bryn-Cerrig’s buildings, the City Hall towered above them. It was made from stone, the front entrance decorated by carvings of foreign words.

“What kind of bizarre language is that?” Zeke muttered, tilting his head. He held his fingers to his chin as he attempted to pronounce it poorly. “ _B...byth… in gorth_...?”

“ _Byddwn yn gorchfygu_ ,” an official corrected. “It is Old Gormotti. We have recently tried bringing it back as a sign of new beginnings. It reads ‘we will conquer’. I suppose it could be considered Neo-Gormott’s slogan.”

As Zeke just looked more confused as he tried to figure out the spelling worked, Niall stopped to glance at the scripture. “Oh, how wonderful. I think it’s an excellent idea to bring back old culture. I never even knew the Gormotti once had their own language.”

The official glowed with pride. “We thank you humbly, Your Majesty. Indeed, it is very old, but we are keen to use it again.”

The hall’s interior was even more artistic. It was still being worked on, though the ceilings were already covered in traditional symbols and paintings. Both Mòrag and Zeke could vaguely recognise some well known Gormotti prophets and heroes, either teaching their wisdom or fighting beasts long ago in Torna times. Despite being brand new, the art had caught the moments in the past perfectly.

It seemed the Chancellor had been waiting for them. By a grand staircase, a young Gormotti man stood idly with two of his aides. They jumped to attention once the emperor made his entrance, and they bowed at his feet.

“Your Majesty,” the Chancellor began, “it is an honour to meet you in person. I thank you for coming all this way.”

As he exchanged the formal pleasantries, Mòrag looked at him, stunned. He couldn’t have been much older than her. How did such a young person achieve the rank of Chancellor? Was he nobility, or related to high-ranking military personnel?

She shook his hand once he made his way over to her. Even Zeke seemed surprised at his age.

“Special Inquisitor Mòrag, Prince Ozychlyrus. I am Llewellyn Gwyn, a pleasure to have you both here.”

“You’re quite young for a Chancellor,” Zeke said bluntly. Mòrag glared at him.

The Chancellor, Llewellyn, didn’t seem offended. “Yes, I am the son of a noble who was high up in the Ardainian military for some time. He passed recently, so I was elected as Chancellor in his place. However, the Gormotti government work as a group. I could never run such a country alone.”

So both of her theories had been correct. Mòrag didn’t know much about how Gormott’s new government system worked exactly, but they seemed to be faring quite well. The Chancellor and his aides led the small group to a meeting room up the staircase. It was much like the ones they had all been in back in Alrest, discussing the fate of the world and how to defeat Malos. Mòrag could picture Raqura in one of the seats right now.

She held back a sigh. What she wouldn’t give to have her back in place of her nephew. Mòrag had never been exactly fond of her, yet she was a thousand times better than the violent narcissist they called a king.

Surely, she would have been appalled if she was alive today to see how Graull ruled her country.

“I’d prefer to get straight to business, Your Majesty,” Llewellyn stated once they were all seated. Mòrag sat next to Niall, apprehensively awaiting the following conversation. She had been pining all her hopes on the Chancellor’s intelligence all week.

“Of course. Ask what you must,” replied Niall.

Llewellyn clasped his hands together. “You mentioned in your letter that you fear Graull is planning an attack?”

“He has never stated it directly to us, but yes, he has been allowing his soldiers to infiltrate our borders. Then there was the run the Special Inquisitor had with them in Neo-Gormott’s territory just last week, as mentioned before.”

“Yes, we have informed King Graull of that recently. We’ve released the captives and given him a warning, though he wasn’t exactly… pleased.”

Everyone in the room held their breath at the thought. One could only imagine how furious Graull would have been to have received a warning from Gormott. Not that it wasn’t his fault, but he would blow up at anything. Mòrag shuddered as she imagined the scenario in her mind. Llewellyn held his firm gaze, yet she could see the worry in his eyes. He feared him as much as everyone else did.

“I cannot promise that he will adhere to that warning,” he continued, “and I worry what will happen if he allows his soldiers to threaten us again.”

Niall shifted in his seat. “We would normally be glad to lend our assistance, however there is the matter of the rebel soldiers.”

Llewellyn perked up. “Ah, so you said. The Reubaltaich, wasn’t it?”

“They are out of our control, Chancellor,” Mòrag added after Niall nodded. “They function separately from Mor Ardain. They are the fraction of our army that insist on a war with Uraya, thus sparking Graull’s recent outbursts.”

“I see. I suppose that is why you cannot give us military support?”

“We have little to spare,” said Niall. “Most of our soldiers are patrolling our borders or guarding our capital. We were hoping that an alliance with Gormott could be made if a war with Uraya does occur in the near future.”

It took a few moments for Llewellyn to process all of it. Even Zeke was dead still as the man thought. Brighid and Pandoria stood at the back of the room, behind their respectful drivers, not having said a word since they entered the room. Mòrag could feel Brighid’s piercing gaze on her back, urging her to stay calm. She forced out a shallow breath and untightened her fists. _Breathe, Mòrag_.

She hadn’t been this tense in a meeting for a long time. Of course, the meetings back in Alrest concerning Malos had been dire, though today definitely rivalled them. Mòrag was only 26, yet she felt old with all the tension and worry that she had been carrying over the years.

After several gruelling seconds, Llewellyn came to a suggestion. “Well, I do not want a war as much as you do, Your Majesty. I don’t think it’s a good idea to form an alliance before a war is declared, in case Graull takes that as a threat, but I will think of a suitable compromise in the meantime. I shall discuss it with my aides.”

They left the room. Zeke leant back in his chair and glanced at both Mòrag and Niall.

“That was nerve wracking.”

“Let us hope they come to an agreeable decision,” said Brighid, the first words she had spoken in the meeting.

Niall was chewing on his nails. A habit he had picked up when he was younger that he now only did when nobody important was watching. Or rather, when nobody that would care was watching. Mòrag turned to him.

“Majesty?”

“Hm?” Niall’s eyes widened at Mòrag’s concerned expression before he gave her a smile. “I’m fine. I’m just hoping we can go home today with a satisfying conclusion.”

They spent the next ten or so minutes in silence. Zeke had wandered to the other side of the room to look out of the window while the others stayed put. Niall continued to bite his nails, and Mòrag nodded to her blade in appreciation when she felt her hand on her shoulder.

Llewellyn then stepped back into the room, his aides not present. Niall shot up instantly. The Chancellor looked fairly confident in his decision, to the emperor’s delight.

“Your Majesty, I have reached a conclusion. As there is no war declared at the moment, an official alliance will not take place. However, I give my permission to the Gormotti public to sign up for the Ardainian army temporarily. If they so wish, they may be your guards or patrol officers.”

Niall stood up and bowed his head. “I thank you, Chancellor. Mor Ardain is deeply grateful.”

“I ask that communication between us is to be kept up until this situation dies down.”

“Of course. I will have reports sent personally,” said Mòrag.

The Chancellor turned to Zeke. “Prince Ozychlyrus, do you have anything to add on behalf of Tantal?”

Zeke looked taken aback to be asked his opinion. Despite being allowed to meet with him, he never expected to be part of the conversation. He made his way back to the table and cleared his throat.

“Well, Tantal are not officially involved. I am assisting Mor Ardain as a personal companion of the Special Inquisitor and His Majesty.”

That cleared that up. Satisfied with his end result, Llewellyn took Niall to sign some contracts to confirm the agreement. There was some other minor details that Mor Ardain would have to abide to, but nothing that would be detrimental. The others quietly left as the emperor took care of the remaining business.

Zeke clapped his hands once they were a safe distance away. “Nice! Looks like we finally scored.”

It was over. Mòrag hadn’t felt so relieved in weeks. The result was not as good as it could have been, although she understood Llewellyn’s reasoning. The fact that he was lending them his own people as soldiers was already generous enough. She could only silently thank the dead Architect that he was a rational young man. She had seen enough of people becoming corrupt because of the power they held.

As Zeke and Pandoria celebrated, Brighid turned to her. “You see? I told you not to worry.”

“I’ll go get the others,” Zeke announced.

Before he could get to the door, however, it opened. He skidded to a halt to see Rex, Nia, Tora, and all their blades arrive.

Nia looked around the room idly. “Oh, hey, shellhead. Good timing.”

“You guys were gone ages, so we just decided to come and wait,” said Rex. “So? Any good news?”

Mòrag ushered them outside. Being a group of 11, she didn’t want them taking up all of the space in the City Hall, so they got themselves seated in the garden outside.

Rex and Tora cheered loudly once Mòrag delivered the results. The young driver punched the air. “Yes! Finally someone with some sense!”

“King Graull will definitely be too scared to declare war now!” exclaimed Tora.

“Don’t get optimistic,” Mòrag said sternly. “There is also the matter of the Reubaltaich to deal with.”

Everyone’s faces twisted at the mention of the rebel soldiers. They’d almost forgotten about them, seeing as there had been no sightings for a while, now. Their last run in was the fight against Steaphan in Falach, two weeks ago. Technically, it hadn’t been that long, but now every day dragged.

Mòrag glanced at three passing Gormotti nearby. They were skulking around rather than walking, so she narrowed her eyes. They glared back before disappearing behind a building.

The Special Inquisitor kept her eyes glued in the direction they had been in, though they had long gone.

She then decided her next course of action. Now that they had more soldiers, they could afford to send out more patrols. Finding the Reubaltaich was crucial if they wanted to keep Graull at bay, at least for the time being.

* * *

Raghnall stood at the watch tower of the Reubaltaich’s southern base.

Nestled comfortably between the mountains separating Neo-Mor Ardain from Neo-Gormott, they hadn’t found it difficult to keep themselves hidden. Setting up their supplies had been quick, and they had one of the best vantage points in the region. If perchance the Ardainians or Urayans found them, they would see them coming a mile away.

“Sir?”

The ex-commander peered down. Steaphan was looking up at him from the tower’s foundation. He had kept him busy since his encounter with Mòrag. Raghnall had never expected Steaphan to kill her, though was disappointed in their losses.

“Anything to report?” he asked on his way down.

Steaphan appeared pleased with himself. “Yes, the Gormotti spies that we sent out to Bryn-Cerrig managed to find the emperor.”

“The emperor? What’s he doing in Neo-Gormott?”

“Well, we came to the conclusion that they are attempting an alliance. Apparently Graull’s lackeys were sent to harass the Gormotti patrols nearby.”

Raising his hand to lean his face on, Raghnall frowned. If an alliance took place, then he couldn’t tell if that was good or bad news. It meant that Uraya lost part of its advantage, but then Mor Ardain would be stronger. Considering both were his enemies, there were pros and cons.

He then moved to face his captain. Steaphan continued, “Our spies saw Emperor Niall visit the City Hall. We assume he was seeing the new Chancellor.”

“Well, if that was the reason, then surely he is seeking a compromise with them. That won’t do.”

“What would you have us do about it?”

Remaining silent for a second, Raghnall considered his options. They had been steadily chipping away at Graull’s forces over the past several weeks, a mission that was going well. They were careful to target small groups of Urayan soldiers and to not stray too far into their territory. The thick woods of the region made excellent cover and they’d already began to memorise pathways and shortcuts.

Indeed, they were stable for the moment. That was not of immediate concern, but they were going to have to stop Mor Ardain before they received too much help.

“No doubt they will be coming for us shortly,” he started. “We will have to deal with them the same way as the Urayans; cut them down separately.”

Steaphan looked uncomfortable. “You see, sir, that wouldn’t be an issue, but—”

“But what?” Raghnall snapped.

“They have the _Aegis_ now. I’m aware you said they have been weakened, but we’d never be able to take them on as a group… you _know_ what they’re capable of.”

As much as he hated to admit it, Steaphan had a point. The Aegis, while weakened and split in half, was still something to not be underestimated. Back when they had been in the Ardainian army only two years ago, they had seen first hand the destruction Rex could cause. He didn’t know them, but they sure knew him.

Not to mention they would have Mòrag herself to deal with. Steaphan had gotten lucky last time. If she had been at her best, then there was no doubt the man would have been scorched alive that night. Raghnall was stronger, though he knew he would also lose against her if he were alone.

They couldn’t fight them all at once, no matter how many allies they had.

The commander eventually spoke, “And that is why we use our environment to our advantage.”

“The forest?”

“Right. This area is mostly uncharted. It doesn’t matter whether it’s Ladair or any regular footsoldier, they’d never find their way through. We’ll use that opportunity to seperate them.”

It was a plan that would need a lot of fine tuning to pull off successfully, considering they couldn’t accurately predict what Mor Ardain would do next. Yet, now they had both the Gormotti and any random bandits they could find working for them, it was within their reach.


	9. Plotting the Finalities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mòrag is insistent on defeating the Reubaltaich rebels with one last mission. However, things do not go to plan.

****Mòrag held her breath. Despite Brighid being close to her, her fiery hair and arms burning steadily, it was still hard to make out anything around them.

The frigid air sent a chill down her spine. The artificial snow had refused to burn. Cold, wounded and now separated from their allies, Mòrag and her blade could only lay low for an opening to strike from stealth. Her usual grandiose entrances of sapphire flames and lashing swords would have to wait for another time.

They could hear members of the Reubaltaich stalking among the frozen trees. While many of them weren’t around, they had far underestimated their numbers. Mòrag had no idea how many of them had taken out her soldiers. She was sure the others were faring well, but there was no way to truly know.

She clutched her swords. How had things ended up so badly?

They’d planned everything down to the last detail. While the area couldn’t be mapped, they had a fair sense of where they were going. Wandering into the massive trap that had been set for them was the last thing they had expected. Mòrag felt like burying her head in the snow. After the last attempt to capture the Reubaltaich had burned to ashes, she was so confident that this time would go well.

“I know you’re here,” a voice hissed.

She’d long had enough of being the prey. Mòrag allowed the tiniest embers to run down her swords, and then prepared herself to lunge.

* * *

 

_Two days prior..._

“Pyra, Sword Bash!”

The Special Inquisitor barely had any time to leap out of the way before the glowing sword came crashing down on her. Skidding to Rex’s left, she summoned her signature flames and hurled them his way. He blocked it.

The driver had become stronger. Rapidly switching from both Pyra and Mythra, Rex had perfected the art of combining the elements of fire and light to inflict devastating blows. He and Mòrag had only been sparring for ten or so minutes, however she already felt herself become tired. Now that Rex was fairly muscular, he was much nimbler and struck a lot harder.

Raising her arms, Mòrag felt the heat of Brighid’s fire engulf her. She lashed it outwards only for Rex to counter it with Pyra’s.

“Well done,” she commented as their spar came to an end, the flames dissipating. Rex looked pleased with himself. “You’ve improved your posture considerably.”

“I’ve had to work with what we had, since the incident at the Orbit Station. Things have been different, but we’ve been having fun.”

She paused to think about it. Mòrag knew for a fact Rex himself was stronger and faster than he ever had been, and both Pyra and Mythra had become far more dexterous since their awakening, yet _something_ was missing. Clearly they couldn’t transform into Pneuma anymore. Rex had found that out the hard way. There was that, and then the deep, mysterious power that made them the Aegis was snuffed out. Probably not for too much longer, but it was noticeable. Mòrag remembered when they had only recently moved to Elysium. Neither Pyra nor Mythra could manage even one Art for several months.

Brighid walked up to them from her nearby position, smiling at the blades and their driver.

“You three have come a long way.”

Mythra boasted proudly, “Of course we have. You forgot who we are?”

“Thank you, Brighid,” Pyra said a little more politely. Rex gave her his usual grin.

“Think you’ll be ready to take on the Reubaltaich?” Mòrag said. “We have troops scouting out their location as we speak. It won’t be much longer before we’ll need to move out again.”

“‘Course we are! I’ve been dying to take them on since we got here!” Rex almost yelled.

It wasn’t as if Mòrag doubted his power. When it came to brute strength, Rex was more than enough to take down a few soldiers and bandits. The problem was, they were not entirely stupid. That last ambush had been planned, and while they never inflicted any major injuries, they still managed to escape the most powerful driver in Mor Ardain. It might have been in the middle of the night, but who was to say they wouldn’t catch them off guard the next time?

No, she couldn’t think like that. Mòrag was planning for this next assault to be the end. Those rogues had been destructive long enough. By the end of the week, or whenever they found out their base, Mòrag wanted them either dead or imprisoned.

“Very well. I shall keep you three updated on our progress.”

“How are things with the Chancellor of Gormott going?” Rex asked as they took a break. He threw himself on the nearest bench, Pyra joining him. The others remained standing.

“Good,” Mòrag said simply. “Communication has remained constant and stable. Our army is back up to its original numbers now that we have Gormotti among us.”

It had only been two or so weeks since their visit to Gormott. Niall had been in a much better mood, and Mòrag had been busy recruiting the Gormotti soldiers. The Chancellor had been agreeable, and there had so far been no quarrels over supplies or trading. He had been fairly generous and only asked for more stable protection at their borders where the two countries touched. It hadn’t been too much more of an effort setting up new watch towers, thankfully.

Rex relaxed his posture further. “That’s great. Neither Graull or the Reubaltaich will stand a chance against us at our best.”

She hoped that was the case. The Reubaltaich was something she wasn’t as worried about considering they were just a handful of bandits compared to the Urayan army. Mòrag could only hope that their communication with Gormott would hold them off for the time being. Would it stop Graull completely? Absolutely not, though any time bought was precious.

As they enjoyed their break for a brief moment, a soldier hastily made his way to them. He dropped to his knee at Mòrag’s feet.

“Special Inquisitor, we’ve just heard back from our troops. They have found what appears to be a base in the Gormott mountains.”

Everyone shot up. Mòrag’s jaw tensed in apprehension. “Have any Reubaltaich members been discovered there?”

“They haven’t been able to get close enough, but they have reported many bandits around the area. They have also reported the use of Ardainian weapons.”

“That’s gotta be them,” Mythra added.

“No doubt about it,” said Pyra.

Turning to Mòrag, Rex crossed his arms. “What do you say, Mòrag? We gonna go after them?”

This was the news Mòrag had been waiting to hear for two weeks. She’d been itching to see them again since Falach, dying to reign victorious over them. The taste of failure was still bitter on her tongue from that day. However, she could not go in unprepared. This was something they would have to plan very, very carefully. The time of day, the angle they attacked them at, _every_ detail mattered. At least she now had a full team to assist her along with more soldiers.

She straightened her back. “Continue training if you wish. I am going to have everyone prepared.”

“Lady Mòrag, how are we going to go about this?” Brighid spoke as the two made their way inside the palace.

“We’ll require strategic planning. As we did before, we’ll need maps of the area. Gather those required.”

Brighid nodded obediently. As she left to make the preparations, Mòrag shortly found Captain Padraig and a section of his squadron. The soldiers were slouching at their posts, idly chatting amongst themselves. Once they caught sight of their superior, they snapped to attention.

“Ma’am,” Padraig squeaked.

She glanced at him disapprovingly though said nothing about it. “Padraig, I need you and every other captain to report to me in the strategy room at once. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Like clockwork, the captain raised his hand in salute and his group scattered. The troops were far more alert these days, now that they had a very serious problem to focus on. Despite being a complete wreck several weeks ago, they had pulled themselves together quite well. Mòrag was proud she had managed to get them to accomplish that, the bare minimum of her tasks. Her companions had also spent their free time training or honing their skills, Rex especially. Even Zeke had dropped the playful attitude and was acting more serious.

Some captains were already waiting for her when Mòrag arrived. She nodded at them before taking her place at the table. Brighid stood behind her.

Once the other soldiers joined them, Mòrag wasted no time in getting to the point. “We have found what appears to be the Reubaltaich’s base. If that is true, then I want this mission to be the last before their capture. We can afford no more mistakes.”

They listened to her attentively. The man who had delivered the report earlier then placed the research files on the table. There were hastily drawn maps and sketches of the location, as well as further details scrawled down in lists. They seemed to be descriptions of the bandits that were spotted, that and what the base looked like. Good. That was an excellent start.

“Are there any easy routes to this location?” Mòrag asked.

The soldier drew his finger to the sketches. “There are some natural paths up the mountain. However, the base is set very high. They’ll be able to see us coming from most angles.”

“Perhaps we should head through the forest as cover,” suggested Brighid. Mòrag hummed in consideration. Moving under the shade of the trees had its advantages, but it came with its downsides. It would be much harder to navigate, and the area was still in its most natural state. They would have to slice their way through.

The man then went on to describe the rest of the surroundings. The mountains on Neo-Gormott’s side were even worse to travel on, so they would have to keep to their side of the border. There were too many lakes and rivers to cross further down, and the mountain was far too high to climb over from the north. Any further east and they would be in Neo-Uraya’s territory, which was, obviously, a no-go.

It looked like their only option was to move in from the western side. Mòrag would have to leave that to the scouts, but she had already prepared for them to check out the area ahead of time.

“I want to take a battery with us. I will not be caught out again,” Mòrag said to Brighid.

The blade arched a brow. “Are you sure that’s wise, Lady Mòrag? That is quite a lot of soldiers.”

It was, possibly well over a hundred if she was generous with her choices. That was pushing it, so Mòrag considered the lower scale of what a battery consisted of. That would be around 60.

“The numbers will be calculated. Don’t fret. The capital will not remain unguarded.”

There was also the palace. Of course, the Reubaltaich would never be able to get anywhere near such a place, though Uraya was a different story. They had been quiet, however Mòrag still had no idea if or _when_ they would strike. She chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment to consider the outcomes. With the added numbers of Gormotti, it was less of a headache, but this also required planning.

At the end of the session, Mòrag had come to a decision. The others still didn’t know, but they would _all_ be going, alongside the battery that Mòrag would have to command. The Reubaltaich may have gotten the better of three of them last time, yet she knew they couldn’t outsmart them and the Aegis. Not at their best.

Rex was already waiting for her once she stepped outside. She would have said he looked up at her, except they now stood nearly stood eye to eye.

“Rex,” she started, “I’ll be needing you for this next expedition.”

“About time!” He grinned. He turned to Mythra and Pyra. “Looks like we’re finally going to take care of these rebel bastards!”

Mòrag nodded, her mouth in a hard line. “I promise you, Rex, this mission _will_ be the last. You weren’t dragged all this way for nothing.”

“Aw, come off it. You know I’d help you out no matter what it was.”

How he stayed so cheerful and optimistic, Mòrag would never know. When this was over, she would have to ask him for advice. She cracked a small smile before going to get the others.

As she left, a lone soldier slipped out of the strategy room and out of the palace.

* * *

 

“Listen carefully, because I’m not going to move all of our stuff again.”

Steaphan stood in the middle of the woods surrounded by both his Reubaltaich soldiers and the stray bandits. Their camp loomed above them, nestled into the Gormott mountains. From where they stood, they had an excellent view of Neo-Mor Ardain, Neo-Uraya and Neo-Gormott. It was quite the sight to see Elysium from so high up.

Except they were not here to admire the view. Steaphan, dressed in full armour, eyed his soldiers. The ones that had joined him from Mor Ardain looked the part, though the bandits, not so much. Their ragged appearances and shoddy weapons gave that away.

“I’m aware some of you haven’t had proper training,” he continued, not naming any names, but making sure to make eye contact with those he was referring to, “but we’re expecting another strike from Mor Ardain any day now. We know they’ve been trying to sniff us out.”

“And how do you know when they will?” a bandit asked gruffly.

“We have some spies still in Alba Cavanich. Our commander isn’t stupid, you know. He made sure some kept their true motives hidden.”

Some looked impressed. Others looked concerned. Steaphan did nothing except smile smugly, before being interrupted by a panting soldier.

“Speak of the devil,” Steaphan drawled. He turned to the man. “Right on cue. What have you got for us?”

The spy took a moment to compose himself, almost brimming over with news. “Sir, they’ve found our base and are planning an attack soon. They’ll be taking a route from the Ardainian border, and Ladair is bringing a small battery _and_ the Aegis’.”

“The _Aegis’_?!”

The bandits that had been defeated by Rex not too long ago shuffled their feet nervously. Some gave them knowing glances. Steaphan had been well informed of their encounter with the Aegis’ and their driver. Raghnall hadn’t been too concerned, but Steaphan wasn’t going to underestimate them. They might be weaker than before, yet that didn’t change the fact he was still no match for them.

“No matter!” Steaphan loudly announced, trying to still the commotion. “The Aegis’ are strong, and that’s exactly why I have a method of dealing with them. That and everything else Ladair is bringing to the party.”

“And how exactly are you going to do that?”

“Seperation.”

Everyone looked at each other. Steaphan stayed silent for dramatic effect before he continued.

“As a group, there’s no way we can take them on. We all know what they’ve done. But, one at a time? _Then_ , and only then, we may stand a chance. I would have defeated the Tantal prince last time, had I not been interrupted. Alone, they are not much more than above-average drivers.”

“Even the Special Inquisitor?”

“Even her.”

* * *

 

There was not much else to do in the palace. With everything prepared on the final night before their departure, Mòrag still found herself restless.

She had resorted to wandering the palace’s halls. It was late, and she knew she should be sleeping, but there was something keeping her up. Worry, perhaps? That was expected, but she felt it was something else to it. As she padded down the tiled floor, absentmindedly trailing her eyes over the patterns, she dug a little deeper into her mind.

She’d thankfully been able to catch up on her sleep in the last couple of weeks. Her stress levels hadn’t changed, although it was a marvel how much sleep could improve one’s health. Brighid had been dutifully assisting her in all manners and the rest of her companions had helped out wherever they could. Even Tora and Poppi had found pleasure in helping out in the palace’s military cafeteria, experimenting with all the new Ardainian food.

Despite the stress of Uraya and the rebels, Mòrag was happy that they were all together again. Those times had appeared almost simpler than they were now. Not that times before Elysium were hassle-free, but they seemed so straightforward.

Mòrag blew out a sigh when she found herself in the palace’s art gallery.

Ugly scaffolding was covering one half of the room, though Hardhaigh’s exhibitions had all been saved before their titan died. Most were hanging on the uncovered wall which Mòrag was now facing.

Niall’s portrait was grand and centre. With every new monarch, they would replace the main portrait with the most current one. He was so small when it had been painted, it was almost odd to look at him. The gold plaque beneath read, ‘ _Niall Ardanach, 49th Emperor of Mor Ardain_ ’.

Mòrag swept her eyes over the oil-painted furs draped over her brother’s shoulders and the sceptre he held in one hand. She vaguely remembered the day it had been completed. Niall had shrugged off the royal garbs he had been made to wear for hours and spent the next week in his lightest clothes. She chuckled at the memory.

The next ones along were his parents. Mòrag felt warmth in her heart as she gazed up at her aunt and uncle that had raised her so fondly. Both her and Niall had been so young when they had passed, Mòrag wished she had more memories of them, but for now she clung to the ones she did have.

Her soft smile faded to a scowl once she settled her gaze upon another portrait. Her father, Lord Eandraig and her noble mother. She had been around five or six when her father passed, and even younger when her mother left. Her only knowledge of her was this painting and her uncle’s words. It did not ignite a sense of happiness in her.

Fortunately, like her father, the 48th Emperor had been a kind man. He had been so excited about his son’s arrival that Mòrag couldn’t stay upset that she’d been denied the crown. The feelings of anger had dissipated quickly, yet the feelings of emptiness hadn’t.

Sometimes it wasn’t always obvious. A scar flayed on her soul long ago, usually unnoticeable if she was distracted long enough. But when facing her brother, or when reminded she was Special Inquisitor, the wound gradually ate away at her. Zeke had chided her when she expressed this back at the Orbit Station. She was shocked she had even said _anything_ about it, really. Only Brighid knew how she truly felt about her role in the world.

Shaking the thoughts from her mind, Mòrag turned back to look at Niall. The innocence captured on his face was much more pleasing to look at. Still, it made her sad. She saw firsthand how the effects of royalty impacted him now.

Mòrag gripped the red rope separating her from the painting. “For life to be simpler for us both.”

“Still awake, Lady Mòrag?”

Jumping out of her skin, Mòrag whirled around. Brighid had somehow entered the gallery without making a sound. How on earth had she not noticed her?

“Brighid,” she spluttered before gaining her composure. “Um, what are you doing here?”

“You left your door open.”

Oh. That was silly of her. Mòrag scolded herself mentally as she straightened her composure. “I see. I couldn’t sleep.”

“We have a big day tomorrow.”

“I’m aware, it’s just…”

Brighid’s gaze softened. “Overthinking things?”

Mòrag tilted her head down. That was enough of an answer for her blade, Brighid walking up to stand next to her in front of all of the royal portraits. The faint glow of Brighid’s hair lit them in an eerie blue colour. She glanced upwards.

“No matter what’s going around in your head, you always seem to end up here. Do you wish to tell me what the problem is?” she asked.

“It’s nothing,” Mòrag quickly dismissed. “I was just, uh, thinking of what things would be like without everything that’s happening now.”

“You mean the war?”

“Everything. The palace, the royal status, the duties. What life would be like if everything were normal. Perhaps I could have found my true fate there.”

“Would you swap your current life for it?”

Mòrag smiled, keeping her eyes down. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“Why is that?”

“I never would have met you, would I?”

Brighid let out a light laugh. “That’s good, then. I could hardly imagine you as a farmhand.”

True, the thought was kind of amusing. Mòrag knew she would definitely get bored of such a mundane task day after day, but it sure sounded easier than what she was doing now. Her job kept her simulated though it left her no room for play. After years of performing such strenuous duties, it was sure to cause an impact on someone.

“Who knows?” she replied half-jokingly. “Perhaps that _is_ my destiny.”

She hid her surprise as Brighid took a step closer. “Lady Mòrag, I understand how frustrated you must feel, but I implore you to not think of fate as the be all and end all. Fate isn’t something that happens, it is a choice you make.”

“Choice? I felt like I haven’t had much of _that_ in my life.”

“I don’t believe so,” Brighid said as she frowned. “You made the choice to save the world, did you not? You made the choice to serve your country, and it will be you again who chooses to serve it in the future. You are more in control of your life than you think.”

Mòrag blinked at her blade’s words. She knew Brighid was a deep-thinker, yet she always found new ways to surprise her. She looked on as Brighid’s eyes cracked open to gaze at her.

“Please, think about that for me.”

“I… I will try.”

* * *

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is our last stop before we enter the lair of the enemy.”

The following day, Mòrag stood before her battery and her companions. She almost felt deja-vu after going through the same thing when they entered Falach. She hoped she would not have to repeat this procedure a third time. They had travelled a fair distance to the edge of the Ardainian border, at the foot of the mountain the Reubaltaich were camping on. It would be quite the climb, but it was manageable.

“From what we have learnt last time, the Reubaltaich are cunning. We cannot be sure what they have planned for our arrival, though that is why we have the element of surprise. Concentrate on using both stealth and force to take them out. You have permission to kill if it is necessary.”

Her companions were watching her carefully. Rex and Tora looked up in admiration, while Nia and Zeke seemed to be deep in thought about her wording. She spared them no second glance. Now was not the time to overthink, unlike last night.

“I trust you are all prepared?” Mòrag called out.

“Yes, Your Grace!” her troops responded in unison. Nodding approvingly, Mòrag turned on her heel and began making her way up the mountain.

She had brought as many extra blades as she thought she would need. Dagas, Aegeon, KOS-MOS, Newt and Corvin all encircled her battery as a form of extra protection. The others had also brought their own share of rare blades that they trusted on such an important mission. Not that Mòrag planned on switching between too many at once, still, having backup was wise.

Zeke jumped beside her suddenly. “I get dibs on that orange-haired freak. I want revenge for the last time.”

“I know you’re still angry but you must put your feelings aside for this mission,” Mòrag replied. “I cannot afford any more mistakes.”

“Just trying to lighten the mood,” Zeke mumbled. “So, what are you going to do after we defeat the Reubaltaich?”

She pondered the thought for a second. “There is still Uraya to consider.”

“Don’t worry too much. After this, I’m going to try and get dad on your side.”

Tantal, allied with them as well as Gormott? Mòrag’s eyes widened. They had briefly discussed this before, back when they had their first mission together, but Zeke had seemed so doubtful that his father would listen. Had his mind changed?

“I mean, I can’t promise anything, but I’m going to _try_. I’ve seen firsthand what Graull’s up to.”

“That would be kind of you, Zeke.”

The prince beamed. He said nothing else for a while, instead dropping back to talk more to Pandoria. Rex was engrossed in a conversation with some of the footsoldiers, and it seemed Tora and Poppi were talking to the pair of Aegis’. They would have to cut the chatter out when they got closer, though for now, Mòrag allowed them.

The walk was uneventful. As the area was unexplored, there was not much to see besides from the rocky surface of the mountain and then the dense forest ahead of them. Honestly, Mòrag was getting really sick of forests. She would be glad not to have to step foot in one again.

“Brrrr, it’s getting cold, isn’t it?” Nia piped in, shivering.

“We _are_ on a mountain,” said Mythra.

“It _is_ quite chilly,” Brighid added. “It shouldn’t be this cold down here. We are nowhere near the peak.”

“It’s probably just the weather,” said Mòrag, not stopping. “Summer has almost… ended…”

She trailed off once she got to the top of a particularly steep slope. Mòrag’s silence prompted everyone else to quickly climb up alongside her.

Snow and ice covered the entire side of the mountain. It had been out of sight, protected by the shade of the trees above, but the frozen wasteland beneath was no mirage. The bark of the trees was crusted over completely, and the grass hardened to icicles. The worst part of all was that there was so much ice that it split their current path up into several different directions.

“What the bloody hell is all this?” Rex yelled.

“This snow isn’t natural,” Brighid said.

As the others spouted out different theories, Mòrag’s eyes narrowed. They turned to see her fierce expression and slowly faded into silence. “Steaphan,” she growled.

“He can’t be this powerful,” Pandoria said worriedly.

His blade was no rare blade, after all. It was hard to believe Steaphan could be behind planting all of this ice here, yet there was no other explanation. Neither Raghnall nor the other two captains used ice-based weaponry, and there was no way their soldiers would have blades this strong. Then again, Steaphan had managed to wound both Mòrag and Zeke quite painfully back in Falach. Perhaps he was stronger than he let on.

Mòrag turned back to their split up path. There was no way they could dig through ice that thick, so she called for Brighid.

Her blade obeyed without hesitation. Brighid’s flames burst forth licked at the ice like tendrils, but when they faded away, they had hardly put a dent in it.

“He’s enchanted it,” Zeke muttered.

“I… I don’t understand,” Mòrag said. She then ordered for both Brighid and Pyra to combine their fires in one attack. Blue and red swirled together in a scorching tornado, but the ice still refused to melt.

“Well, what do we do now?” Mythra demanded. Everyone turned to Mòrag expectantly.

She stood there for several long moments. She had anticipated lots of things that could potentially go wrong, although she hadn’t predicted such an obstacle. If both Brighid and Pyra couldn’t burn it, then neither would anyone else here be able to. They couldn’t climb it, and they couldn’t chip it away in time.

They would have to go around.

This was ruining all of her plans. Mòrag huffed in frustration. The paths that the ice had forged were far too narrow, only allowing one or two people to slip by at a time. She couldn’t take everyone down the same path.

“Do we split up?” said Rex.

“We’ll have to,” Mòrag bit out reluctantly. “The paths are too slim. We cannot afford to waste time. Squad!”

The soldiers jumped to attention once Mòrag called on them. There were 60 soldiers, excluding the 11 of the main group, and the rare blades, which were made up of a set of ten.

“There are five main pathways, thus I will be splitting us up into five groups. There isn’t enough time or room to go around. Our priorities have not changed, you are still to defeat the Reubaltaich, but if you find yourselves outnumbered, retreat and wait for the rest of us.”

She pointed at her friends. “Rex, Nia, Zeke and Tora, I want you to lead your own group. Can you do that?”

“Hell yeah, we can!” Rex said excitedly.

“Child’s play,” Zeke scoffed, Pandoria bouncing on her heels beside him.

Nia folded her arms. “Got ya.”

While Tora looked a little more nervous than the others, he still gave her what she believed was a salute with one of his wings. “Tora won’t let Mòrag down.”

Mòrag nodded. “Good. Now, troops, separate into five groups of 12.”

After they were filed and given to their respective leader, Mòrag split the rare blades into groups of two and handed them around. They were still probably too many to squeeze their way through the narrow pathways, though any less and they would be too vulnerable.

Taking her group down the centremost path, Mòrag prayed to whatever god or higher being that was listening. They were going to need it with these unexpected turn of events. She kept quiet as they navigated their way through the frozen tunnels. The ice was so thick that it almost shielded the sun from view. Shivering, the Special Inquisitor forced herself to press on, Brighid close behind her. She wasn’t going to let this stop her from completing her goal, not after last time.

It seemed like hours before they finally came across something of interest. What parts of the forest that weren’t frozen only lead to the bottom of the mountain, the opposite direction of where they needed to go, or dead ends. After twisting and turning around countless bends and crevices, Mòrag hunched her shoulders when she set her sights on a building.

A watchtower, it looked like. It seemed empty.

“Men, search this area. I’ll check the tower.”

“Are you sure that’s wise, Lady Mòrag?” Brighid inquired.

“Not everyone’s going to fit up there,” she replied, already gripping onto the tower’s ladder. “Cover me, Brighid.”

Her blade followed her. The soldiers, along with Dagas and KOS-MOS, crawled over the place like ants, determined to flush any Reubaltaich out of hiding. At the top of the tower, Mòrag got to her feet. The room was dark, though she could see the outlines of crates and supplies.

She picked up a rifle. It was empty. Tossing it aside, Mòrag quickly rummaged through the boxes, hoping to find anything to take away from them. It was all garbage.

“Nothing,” she groaned. Brighid was waiting for her at the tower’s entrance, but when the two heard a yelp, they raced back outside. “What in the name of—”

The ground beneath them was suddenly filled with combat. The Reubaltaich, dressed in their patchy armour with their crude inverted emblems, had somehow snuck out of the undergrowth and launched themselves at the unsuspecting soldiers. Screams of horror were unleashed when several soldiers were dragged back into the foliage, fighting for their lives. Stunned at how quickly they were acting, Mòrag leant over the tower railings in order to leap over.

Unbeknownst to her, she never noticed a shadow slip around the outside of the tower, directly making their way to the fire blade. It was too late when Mòrag saw. Slashing the axe in their hands down, it made a sickening crunch as it landed down the length of Brighid’s spine.

The shriek Brighid let out was piercing. Mòrag stared, wide eyed and horrified, as she was pushed over the edge. “Brighid!”

“Not so tough without your blade, are you?” came a sinister voice.

Mòrag whirled around to see Steaphan hiding behind his ice blade, chuckling in amusement. Fury raced through her entire body as Mòrag began to scream, “You son of a—”

Her words were cut off when Steaphan flipped a hand, and his blade sent a flurry of ice crystals at her. Mòrag was thrown from the top of the tower, though thankfully landed in snow that softened the impact. It still hurt, though. Mòrag grit her teeth in pain as she made herself get up. Brighid was nearby, recovering from the wound they’d put in her back.

“Are you hurt, Lady Mòrag?” she rasped.

“Pathetic!” Steaphan hollered from his place on top of the watchtower. He effortlessly slid down the ladder, his blade neatly jumping down using snow to balance them. “Sorry, ladies, but your efforts are useless. We knew you were coming. What do you think of our little display?”

He gestured to the snow around them. It really _had_ been him. The prick.

“What have you done with my soldiers?” Mòrag snarled at him.

Steaphan said nothing, only allowing a sadistic smile to grow across his face as he drew his finger under his neck.

His crude expression and the sight of the Reubaltaich creeping back out from the trees to get the rest of them, blood stained on their uniforms, was more than enough to further enrage Mòrag.

“I wonder, after you die, who’s going to protect your _dear_ brother?” he taunted. 

“Master!” cried a robotic voice. Heads turned to see KOS-MOS leap forwards, ether cannon in hand, shooting rays of light straight for Steaphan. The man screeched in pain but managed to duck when a blast of fire was then sent his way. Dagas followed KOS-MOS, greataxe slung over his shoulder.

KOS-MOS threw the cannon over to Mòrag, who caught it and swung it in front of her. She didn’t hesitate to launch Woodcutter and topple Steaphan. Swapping the cannon for Dagas’ axe, she casted Admiral Waltz to snuff the life out of the surrounding Reubaltaich’s eyes. Mòrag never enjoyed killing, avoiding it if she could, although today, she didn’t care.

“Murderer!” Steaphan rasped. “You’ve just killed your own countrymen!”

She ignored him. Even when he was on the floor, Steaphan still found the energy to try and get under her skin. Disposing of him was going to be satisfying.

After switching back to Brighid and slaughtering any more that had dared attempt to get close to her, Mòrag wiped the blood from her face and surveyed the area. She had taken care of a good chunk of them, but she could see even more on their way down from the hill above.

“Find the others!” Mòrag called out to her blades, the four immediately escaping the area after making sure that the surviving Ardainian soldiers had made a run for it.

Finally managing to get to his feet, Steaphan yelled at his comrades, “Follow them, you idiots!”

Blood rushed in her ears as Mòrag raced through the forest. It was hard to move quickly and not slip, so she did her best to weave in and out of the various pathways that the ice had formed. KOS-MOS and Dagas went in another direction to assist her men with her permission, leaving her with just Brighid.

This was going nothing like she had planned. She cursed herself. Yet, she decided that this was still going to be the last mission, and she was going to make that happen. If she destroyed some of them, then she could destroy them all.

They came upon an opening with a little more breathing room. Having to stop and catch her breath, Mòrag crouched behind a mound of snow-covered bushes, Brighid next to her.

_The frigid air sent a chill down her spine._

“What shall we do?” Brighid whispered lowly, tucking her arms and legs in to further hide herself.

“Wait for them,” Mòrag said softly. She didn’t have a plan, so she was going to have to improvise. “I’ll catch the bastard by surprise.”

_They could hear members of the Reubaltaich stalking among the frozen trees._

Both of them were now holding their breath. Mòrag’s lungs were aching, still desperate for air and already in pain from the coldness they had been forced to inhale for the past hour. She still dared not breathe, for the footsteps and angry growls were growing closer.

_“I know you’re here,” a voice hissed._

_She’d long had enough of being the prey. Mòrag allowed the tiniest embers to run down her swords, and then prepared herself to lunge._

Metal slicing through the air like scissors to paper, Steaphan had no time to react before the Special Inquisitor leapt out from her hiding place in order to corner him. The man tried to prepare himself, but it was too late. The deadly whipswords came flying at him in less than a second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> didnt mean for this to get so long, but here we are. chapter 10 is when things get tasty *winks with both eyes*


	10. Hellfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With her companions elsewhere, Mòrag struggles to keep herself going.

**** “Do you have their base located?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” said the scout. There was a short distance telescope set up in front of them. The Urayan troops glanced at each other, pleased. At long last, they had found it. The nest where those little Ardainian rats had been hiding out while they had been killing their soldiers. The scout looked through the telescope for a second time before turning back to their king. “Not only that, sire, but there seems to be a commotion going on. The Reubaltaich are not alone.”

“Ah, more guests? How fortunate they are that they will experience my presence.”

Graull smirked. He tilted his chin up as he gazed at the base within the mountains. Eurica stood behind him as she always did, watching with gleaming eyes as the king readied his weapon.

* * *

 

She had expected a cry of horror when she brought her swords down.

For her attack to be countered, she hadn’t seen it coming. Mòrag felt herself come face to face with a man she had not seen in weeks.

“Good evening, Special Inquisitor,” Raghnall greeted, slicing his chroma katana against her whipswords. Flecks of black energy sprayed up like water against Mòrag’s face, causing her to clench her teeth and squeeze her eyes shut.

She didn’t have time to spit back a retort before the blast of magic broke them apart. She fell back into the snow. Raghnall landed expertly on his feet, his blade coursing ether through to him. His armour was shining and untouched. He must have only just arrived to the battle.

“Raghnall,” Mòrag coughed as she got up by stabbing one sword into the ground to steady herself. “About time you showed your treacherous face.”

“A good leader does not recklessly endanger himself.”

“Then, what? You’re the head of the Reubaltaich?”

The ex-commander nodded. “Of course.”

“And Steaphan?”

“Did as he was told,” Raghnall said with a slight sneer. “The man’s an idiot, but I won’t dismiss his loyalty. It’s fascinating who you can persuade with the right words.”

Already having enough of Raghnall’s blathering, Mòrag slashed her swords forwards to summon Radiance. The fire danced across the ground, scorching the snow and the grass beneath, though Raghnall used the power of his dark blade to form a shield. Not a particularly strong one, yet strong enough to stop one of Mòrag’s Arts.

She didn’t think she’d ever sparred with him personally. Raghnall had been one of her top soldiers, and she knew well enough to know  _ how _ he fought, but fighting against him was a different matter. He was far more defensive that she remembered. Art after Art, he refused to fight back, merely dodging or raising his shields. What was he trying to do? Tire her out? If that was the case, then he’d forgotten what she was capable of. It was not three in the morning anymore, and Mòrag had had her rest. She was in her  _ prime _ .

“You still have a chance to end this stupidity,” she attempted to bargain. It was always worth a shot. “If your goal is to bring glory to Mor Ardain, then this is not the way to do it. The only thing you will gain is tyranny.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with the emperor,” Raghnall scoffed. He finally threw his arm up and called for his first Art, summoning a coating of obsidian energy to drip from his katana.

It seemed like he wasn’t in the mood for talking. Careful not to make contact with the katana’s edge, Mòrag strengthened her Affinity to maximum and prepared herself for Swirling Dragon. Despite being stronger than Raghnall, if he kept weaving around her, then she was going to waste all of her energy on Arts that wouldn’t end up hitting him. She needed all of it if she was going to keep her head above water.

It was a good thing Steaphan and the other soldiers had not found them. She couldn’t take them and Raghnall on in such a small space. As the evening went on, the ice that Steaphan had put down was thinning, though there was still hardly any room move without risking falling over. 

The ex-commander had improved over the time he had been gone. He had always specialised in dark blades, but the energy leaking from his katana was on now the verge of evilness. She supposed that wasn’t much of a surprise. It was common for those weak of heart to fall victim to their own power.

“What if you lose to Uraya?” Mòrag shouted over the sound of flames and darkness clashing. “Have you forgotten how powerful they are?”

“Have you learnt nothing from our actions? That is why we are chipping away at them. They won’t be able to win when all that’s left is a handful of footsoldiers.”

“Damn you to hell,” she snarled as her Art once again missed, and Raghnall struck her with a blow. She skidded backwards, yet managed to stay on her feet. “You will regret  _ ever  _ stepping out of line.”

* * *

 

“My prince, I don’t think anyone’s around…”

“What? They have to be! I can hear the fighting! Let’s just keep moving.”

Ever since they had been separated from the rest, Zeke and Pandoria had dragged their group of soldiers behind them as they desperately attempted to navigate the winding ice maze. They had heard the Reubaltaich battling against them up ahead, except no matter which way they turned, they could not find a way through to them.

They had probably lost a few soldiers along the way. Zeke frowned when he only counted around half of what they’d started out with.  _ Whoops _ , he thought. Well, surely it wasn’t  _ entirely  _ his fault. He knew Mòrag had given him the task to guide the soldiers with him, but he wasn’t the one who covered the whole place with snow. He had tried cutting his way through some of the thinner parts with his sword, to no avail.

“I really don’t think —  _ shit _ !” Pandoria yelled when a foreign beam of earth energy was hurled directly in front of her. It almost struck Zeke’s back before he jumped out of the way. Luckily, neither were harmed.

“Found you!” Zeke grinned hysterically when a couple of Reubaltaich soldiers crept their way forth. The prince had been dying to get his hands on them since they’d ever arrived at this cursed mountain. Raising his sword above his head, he didn’t think before he blasted them away with an Overload Thunderbeam. 

The hit the frozen trees and slid to the floor, unconscious. Pandoria was still a tad shaken up from almost having the blast of earth energy engulfing her, yet she remained strong enough to share her power to Zeke.

He swung his sword around him in defense. The remaining soldiers with him had also drawn their weapons at the ready. “Alright, you little bastards, the rest of you can come out now.”

Right on cue, a group of bandits with their inverted emblems pounced on the Ardainian soldiers. 

“That’s not very polite,” someone sneered from behind him. Zeke spun around to see Steaphan, already slightly injured, swing his axe for him. The familiar spray of ice shards struck the ground in a straight line, cutting into the fray of the bandits and the Ardainians ahead.

Something had struck him in the stomach. Zeke was unsure of what exactly, but Steaphan was hunched over and doing his best to protect his midsection while still swivelling his axe. That only meant Zeke would have an easier time dealing with him. He was going to enjoy this. The pain of having an icicle lodged inside his calf came flashing back at him, bringing a growl rumbling in the back of his throat.

“You’re going to regret what you did to me last time,” he said as he readied himself for Dynamic Spark Sword.

Steaphan snickered to himself. “Does it matter? I’ve already killed your friends, Tantal prince.”

“Nice bluff,” Zeke replied sarcastically. However, the cruel smile on Steaphan’s face worried him. No way would he have taken out the others by himself. 

“ _ Am _ I bluffing? I’m wounded, you know. Where do you think that injury came from? Maybe it was the Special Inquisitor. Or, maybe it was the Nopon. Maybe it was even your Gormotti friend, the one with the cute ears.  _ Oh _ , you should have been there when I slit her throat—”

Zeke let out a roar of rage. He wiped the smirk right off Steaphan’s face as his Art struck him directly in the abdomen. The prince ignored his wounded cries as he leapt on top of him, pinning him to the floor.

“You didn’t fucking touch them,” he snarled through clenched teeth. Letting go of his sword, Zeke was so angry he wrapped his hands around the captain’s neck. “If you did, I’ll electrocute you from the inside out!”

“Better get your sword ready, then,” Steaphan wheezed as his windpipe was being crushed.

He didn’t care. Zeke continued to press harder until the man could no longer breathe to make any more snide comments. Steaphan scrabbled at his hands, but Zeke’s arms were twice as thick as his. He’d never killed anyone before. He’d never wanted to. However, he swore on his grave for that moment, if this bastard had actually hurt his friends, then he wouldn’t regret it. He’d gladly break his no-kill record to avenge them.

Just as Steaphan was turning blue from the lack of oxygen, his blade managed to get past Pandoria and land an attack on Zeke’s shoulder. He was forced to roll to the side before he was hit again, unfortunately letting go of Steaphan.

“Did I hit a nerve?” he rasped as he retrieved his axe.

That was it. Zeke was going to end him.

* * *

 

“Oh, hi, Nia!”

Nia slapped a hand to her forehead. Tora hopped up on the slippery rocks to greet her. This was the  _ third _ time they had ran into each other.

“We’re going in circles,” Nia huffed. Dromarch slumped down for a rest as Tora scurried around them to keep himself warm. There were icicles clinging to his feathers. The troop of soldiers behind them groaned when they realised they were completely lost.

“My lady, may I suggest that I navigate instead?”

Nia turned to him angrily. “No way. Mòrag put  _ me _ in charge. I’m not letting her down.”

Surrounding them were the tall trees, blocking off all other exits. They too, had tried to strike them down with no luck. Their only choice was to go around and follow the twisted paths, though that wasn’t doing them any favours. And since Tora kept running into them, he was clearly having the same problem. 

“Tora, can’t you get Poppi to fly up and check what’s going on?” 

“Poppi tried,” said Tora sadly, “but can’t see because of snow.”

“Haven’t you tried just blowing it up, then?” Nia suggested with a resigned sigh.

Dromarch frowned in disapproval. “That could injure our companions.”

“...Right. Hadn’t thought of that.”

Just wonderful. The group of four alongside their 24 soldiers sat and thought for a moment. They had heard some fighting going on in the distance, except there was no way to reach them. Perhaps splitting up hadn’t been the best course of action to take, after all. Not that Nia didn’t trust Mòrag’s judgement, because she had been right about not being able to fit everyone in together. The paths were so narrow and slippery that it had taken them ages to get to where they were now. A battery of 60 soldiers would have had to wrestle their way through.

Everything seemed bloody hopeless. Nia had been putting on a brave face recently, though the Reubaltaich worried her as well. Considering that Gormott was getting involved in all of this nonsense too, Nia couldn’t help but be concerned.

“Look, we’ve got to find Rex,” she eventually said. “Or anyone, really. We know they’re fighting and we have to help them. Men, move out!”

“Perhaps we could retrace our steps,” said Dromarch.

“That would take too long. Look, I can see a path up ahead. We haven’t been that way.”

Had they not? The snow made everything look the same. The soldiers followed her regardless, and so did Tora’s group. Nia said nothing because she wouldn’t turn down more people on their side. She was a good driver and blade, she wouldn’t deny herself that, though she could not use her full potential alone. If Rex could wield her, then she’d have no doubts about destroying all in their way.

A watchtower swam into view. Nia beamed in satisfaction. Finally, she’d found the way. Or  _ one _ way, at least.

The place was deserted, but the amount of blood and armour on the ground was worrying. As they stepped out into the small clearing, they spotted several bodies strewn everywhere. Tora hid his eyes.

Nia winced when she surveyed the bodies to recognise several Ardainians. “Crap. Looks like we were too late to help.”

“Lots of Reubaltaich here, too,” Poppi added as she hovered off the ground.

Dromarch studied some of the massacre before murmuring to himself, “They must have moved on to another area.”

“Architect, we really need to get a move on,” Nia said hurriedly. “What if someone’s injured—”

The sound of footsteps, marching in order, was coming from the undergrowth. Everyone froze and faced the same direction. This was it. This was their chance to attack. Nia got her rings glowing and ready, and Tora and Poppi got into position.

What were they going to find? Bandits? More Reubaltaich? Whatever it was, Nia was ready to exterminate whatever came her way. She hadn’t defeated enough back at Falach, so this was the perfect opportunity—

“Nia?”

The Gormotti almost threw down her rings. “Rex?!”

“Fancy meeting you here,” Mythra sniggered as they all piled out of the foliage. Now with 36 soldiers packed together, excluding the drivers and blades, the clearing became much smaller. They weren’t going to get anywhere like this, fumbling over each other and wandering in circles. They needed some Architect-damned  _ direction _ .

The driver of the Aegis’ appeared confused. “I swore we’d found a new path.”

“Those cursed Reubaltaich really knew what they were doing,” Mythra said as she looked around at all of the snow. “They’ve got us all on a wild goose chase.”

“There’s been a fight here,” Nia decided to mention. She gestured to the bodies scattered around.

“Mòrag must have been here,” said Pyra, examining the scorched ground. “Only Brighid would have been able to cause this kind of damage.”

“Do you think she’s alright?” asked Dromarch.

They hadn’t seen her or Zeke since they’d all split up. They’d heard the fighting of course, but there was no sign of anyone on their side. No Mòrag, no Ardainians. It was clear the Reubaltaich’s plan was to separate them so they’d be easier to deal with. Well, at least it was a step up from how idiotic they’d been before. Not that it was a good thing. Their enemy become smarter was not what they needed. Especially considering there was Uraya to deal with, and they were most certainly  _ not _ stupid.

What would they do now? Rex, just as confused as the rest of them, brought his group out and wandered around. He kept away from the corpses yet tried to do his best to study the area. They had been given Azami and Electra, so the former was doing her best to find anything with her Clairvoyant Eye. 

“Found anything, Azami?” Rex asked. While she was Zeke’s blade, Rex always loved wielding her with Zeke’s permission. The ether cannon was one of his favourite weapons besides his usual sword.

“My driver is in combat,” she murmured, her fingers twitching with worry. “He is in good health, however. There are many Reubaltaich members scattered about this mountain, but the ice is thick. Reaching them will be difficult.”

“What about Mòrag?”

Azami remained silent as her head slowly turned, eye sparkling. “She seems to be fine— wait, what is this?”

The blade gasped in shock and almost fell backwards. Everyone turned to stare at her.

“What’s wrong?!” Rex yelled.

It was too late. Before any of them could do anything else, an enormous airship was drifting into view. They had no idea how they had missed it, though they supposed they could blame that on the icy roof the trees above had caused. They could only see the sky now because of the clearing allowed them to.

The trouble was, it was no ordinary airship. Rex could recognise the glowing green and blue markings of the small titan anywhere. It was a Urayan warship. 

Hovering above them, the ship’s door opened and a mass of Urayan soldiers climbed out. They crashed into the ground like meteors, sending snow flying up into the air. It was no friendly visit. They branded guns and blades of their own. Katanas, ether cannons, hammers, bitballs, lances and just about every kind of weapon were glinting in the dull light. The bulked up soldiers, dressed head to toe in thick armour, quickly surveyed their surroundings.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Nia barked at them. She marched up to the nearest one, hands on her hips. “You’re on Ardainian soil, here!”

“We are aware,” a Urayan said, voice muffled under his helmet. “Nevertheless, we have orders to follow.”

“Orders?” Rex repeated, drawing his sword just in case. “What orders?”

The soldier said nothing in response. He merely waved his hand and the rest of them roared a battle cry. Brandishing their weapons, they charged at the Ardainians with no hesitation.

“Fuck, we need to find Mòrag!” Nia cried above the sounds of metal clashing. As their soldiers were speared and beheaded, her confidence quickly dropped. There was an enormous amount of Urayans here, and while she had been fine with the Reubaltaich, armoured giants with guns and a loaded warship was not on her list for the evening. Not when Mythra and Pyra were not at their best. Even they would have trouble with this.

“We can’t just leave the Ardainians here!” Rex did his best to protect their soldiers using his new switching technique, yet they were still dropping like flies around them. It wouldn’t be long before they would be alone.

Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ , Nia thought as she defended herself against any Urayans that went for her. Rex was right, though if they stayed here, then there was a possibility they would also be killed. She did her best to heal who she could, but some of them were wounded so critically there was nothing she could do.

“Architect, Rex, just—” Nia panted between swings, “ _ You _ go! You get Mòrag, I’ll deal with this!”

“What about you?”

The Gormotti huffed as she dodged another blow. “Don’t underestimate me. It’ll take more than this to get rid of me. Now, get lost!”

The teen shook his head in frustration as he pondered his decision. He didn’t want to leave Nia and Tora by themselves with this many Urayan soldiers to deal with, but Mòrag needed to know they were here. They would need both her and Zeke to deal any sort of real damage in their forces, or to at least call in a retreat and report it to the emperor.

Before he could make a decision, they heard yelling. Great, more fucking visitors that they didn’t need to deal with.

A man with orange hair burst out from the south end of the clearing. He was wounded, with a bruised neck and what appeared to be broken ribs, yet he came flying in at full speed. There was a crazed look in his eyes, though that soon disappeared when he saw the mass amount of Urayans.

Steaphan let out a horrified scream. Several turned their heads to him, and upon seeing he was Ardainian, began to make their way over to kill him.

Zeke himself was hot on his heels. He tumbled out of the undergrowth and tried to pounce on him.

“Think you can get away?!” he snarled, pure venom in his voice. Nia and Rex had never seen him so angry.

“Zeke! Help!” Nia called to him.

Upon hearing her, Zeke’s expression changed from that of anger to joy. He glanced between them, clearly happy to see them. “You guys! You’re alive!”

“Not for much longer if you don’t help out,” wheezed Nia as she helped heal as many soldiers as she could.

Zeke snapped out of his stupor and stood up straight. Steaphan scrambled between him and the Urayans, but Zeke kicked him to the side when he approached. The captain looked up at him fearfully.

“I’ll deal with you after, you pathetic son of a bitch.”

Purple lightning sparking around him, Zeke jumped right over Steaphan and into the fray of Urayans and Ardainians. Rex let out a sigh of relief when the backup that they very much needed had finally arrived. Looking to Nia and nodding, he prepared to leave and find the fifth driver for their team.

As he left, he gave the signal to Mythra. “Stay here and help out. Pyra and I’ll go.”

The blonde nodded and gave him a flip of the hand to send him on his way. 

Rex had never run as fast as he was currently. As fast as he could, anyway, considering the slippery corners and pathways. He’d run all night if he had to, just as long as he found Mòrag.

* * *

 

She hadn’t meant to allow the fight to drag on for this long, but Raghnall was proving to be a formidable opponent. 

Mòrag had no idea how long they’d been at it. Sweat soaked her back despite the cold air, and her throat was begging for water. She was going to have to end this soon otherwise there would be a chance of losing, a risk she couldn’t take.

“Blaze!” she hissed as she summoned her 100th Art of the evening. The raised aggro effect was not worth much considering they were the only two drivers around, though it did get Raghnall to lower his guard slightly. He charged, slashing his katana in all directions. While Mòrag was getting tired, it was apparent that so was he.

Now was her chance. 

As Raghnall dived low to the ground, Mòrag leapt to the side and rolled back onto her feet. With his back turned to her, she now had the perfect opportunity to finish him. And finish him was exactly what she did. Two open wounds were sliced open beneath his shoulder blades as Mòrag put all her strength into defeating him. Collapsing gracelessly to the ground, Raghnall could only let out a strangled groan of pain. Finally, she’d  _ done _ it.

She pressed her boot into his back, drawing out a howl. “Now, do you finally regret your actions?”

“Kill me if you want,” Raghnall gurgled on his own blood, “but the Reubaltaich aren’t done for. We’ll keep coming back. So long as the Ardanach family rule, there will always be more of us.”

The ex-commander refused to be nothing but a fool, even in his dying moments. Mòrag rolled her eyes as she pressed her boot in deeper. Normally, she would try and take someone into custody, except he was far too dangerous to be allowed to live. He had to go.

“You pitiful man,” she hissed.

Just as she was about to deal the death blow, she heard Brighid gasp.

“Lady Mòrag—”

Her blade was once again struck to the floor. This time, not by Steaphan or a familiar face. 

Streaks of golden lightning lit up the clearing like the sun itself. One had hit Brighid on her core, almost knocking her unconscious. The fire that slicked Mòrag’s swords was snuffed. 

What was it? The Reubaltaich had come to defend their leader? She hissed in anger. Just as she was about to finish Raghnall off herself, too. That was no matter, the man was close to death anyway. If Mòrag didn’t kill him, then time would.

“Hopefully I wasn’t _ interrupting _ something.”

The deep growl of a voice sent her heart into her neck. Mòrag kept her eyes glued to the forest ahead of her, hoping that it would just be a bandit, but she knew better. That lightning was too powerful. It was yellow, much like—

A large figure stepped forwards. It was no bandit.

King Graull himself had arrived. Eurica, standing calmly behind him, was crackling with electricity. Graull held tightly to an absolute beast of a sword, making Zeke’s look like a toothpick. How he even managed to carry such a weapon was beyond her. 

Why was he here?! Mòrag, too shocked to move, simply watched as he raised his monster sword and called forth a bolt of lightning from Eurica’s hands. It raced across the sky at blinding speeds before crashing down to the ground, catching both Mòrag and Raghnall in its wake.

She was sent sprawling into the snow. Mòrag felt her body jerk in pain as the electricity coursed through her. And Architect, it  _ hurt _ . Raghnall, still critically injured, was thrown against a tree. If he wasn’t dead previously, then surely, he was dead now.

“Flamebringer,” Graull said as he took his time in striding over to her. “How wonderful to finally meet in person. I’ve heard many things about you.”

No, no,  _ no _ . She couldn’t let him go anywhere near her. Struggling to get on her hands and knees, Mòrag desperately tried to get up before she felt a shadow loom over her.

Graull was gigantic. He dwarfed her in size, being almost twice as tall and ten times as muscular. His gleaming gold armour spiked outwards from his shoulders and framed his collar. Almost no skin at all was showing besides from his face. He gave her a toothy grin before bending down and gripping her arm.

Mòrag remained silent as he  _ lifted _ her up right off the ground, dangling her in midair like a ragdoll. Her breath was trapped in her lungs. She could do nothing except stare back at him, now at eye-level, in absolute  _ horror _ .

He hummed, sliding his gaze up and down. “It is hard to believe someone like you can cause so much trouble. A female, of all things.”

She could see Eurica watching calmly. Mòrag looked at her, begging,  _ pleading _ with her eyes to help. The blade did nothing.

“Tell me, Flamebringer,” the Urayan king drawled as he pulled her in closer. Mòrag could  _ smell _ the blood on him. He had killed before he found them. “Did you really expect me to stay quiet after your little rendezvous with Gormott? Did you think I would be scared into submission?”

What could she say? Mòrag had never been tongue tied like this. She’d always had something an answer. Having Mikhail hold her by the neck in Tantal was terrifying, and she’d still managed to speak. Having Malos in front of her had also been terrifying, and so was just about any other threatening enemy she had come across in her travels. So why now, of all times, could she not say a word?

Graull spent a long time staring. His eyes, golden like a snake’s, burnt her skin as he studied her. Eventually, he smiled widely.

“It appears you know when you have met your match. I am not impressed.”

He threw her to the floor. She cried out.

“Eurica,” Graull started as he turned away, “are our soldiers making good progress?”

“Indeed, sire. They are taking out the rest of the Ardainians as we speak.”

The Urayan smiled. “Excellent.”

Mòrag felt pathetic. This was meant to be her groundbreaking mission. The mission that ended the Reubaltaich so that they could focus on bringing peace with Uraya. She may have defeated their leader, yet if her soldiers were being slaughtered, then how were they to succeed with the rest of them? They hadn’t prepared for this. Why had they left the safety of Alba Cavanich? Had going beyond their borders been a lost cause this entire time?

It seemed like Graull had all but forgotten her, until he then made his way back over to her crumpled body. Mòrag, already tired from her fight with Raghnall, could do nothing except whimper.

“Well, I expected more of a fight from the famous Mòrag Ladair, but no matter. I suppose it just saves me time in disposing of you.”

He raised his sword. Mòrag swore inside her head. If she didn’t move now, then she would die.

“Hold it right there!”

Graull withdrew his sword to then flatten it against his body, blocking the blast of fire that would have hit him square in the chest otherwise. He stumbled backwards, giving Mòrag room to crawl to a safer distance away.

Rex and Pyra bounded into the clearing. However, they were alone. The teen looked Graull up and down, but it didn’t take him long to figure out who he was facing. He held no respect in his eyes despite Graull’s title, only pulling his lips back into a seething growl.

“Graull, I take it?” he asked almost sarcastically.

“The Driver of the Aegis. Glad to make your acquaintance.” Graull was being surprisingly polite, though it didn’t take a genius to hear the malice dripping from his words. An amused smirk was plastered on his mottled face. “Perhaps you can entertain me more than the Flamebringer, here.”

He easily dodged one of Rex’s attacks, laughing to himself. Rex swung his sword like a madman, overcome with rage at finally meeting the man that was ruining everything he had fought for. While his recklessness was going to get him seriously injured, Mòrag could understand. Rex was still a boy, and she’d witnessed first hand at how hard he had worked to find Elysium. They had all worked hard, but Rex had more than anyone. He had every right to be angry.

“I want to know why you think war is a good idea,” he snapped between each swing. 

Graull feigned a yawn as Rex struggled to land a single blow. “How can I expect a child to understand? You know nothing of politics, boy. You might as well give up the Aegis while you can. That toy is far too much for you.”

“And hand her over to you? Get  _ lost _ .”

Hearing people demand the Aegis was almost nostalgic. Mòrag, pulling herself up on trembling arms, would have chuckled at the thought if not for the searing pain of Eurica’s lightning still wracking her body. Not to mention, she was sure Graull had almost dislocated her shoulder by dangling her in the air like that. Just more things for Nia to heal later.

She was helpless to watch as Rex and Graull continued to spar, dancing around each other. Graull was nimble despite his size, and his armour took much of the damage that Rex was able to inflict upon him. With only Pyra in her weakened state and no other blades to switch into, then he was unlikely to win this fight.

“Rex,” she called out weakly. “Just  _ run _ !”

“And leave you here?” he replied, not looking anywhere else except at Graull. “That’s not what friends do.”

“You might as well listen to her,” Graull taunted. 

Rex still refused to go. Mòrag glanced over to Brighid, but her blade was not doing much better than she was. They were going to have to escape somehow if they wanted to live, or Rex was going to have to come through and temporarily stop Graull.

The king’s temper was, thankfully, quite short. Even though he had been laughing gleefully just moments ago, he was now becoming more enraged the longer he battled Rex. He might have been dodging his attacks, though Rex was also dodging his. It was only so much fun to try and squash an insect before it begins to get on your nerves.

“Enough!” he roared, blowing Rex back with a blast of electricity. “I grow tired of this! You are not worth my time!”

“Come here and say that,” Rex shot as he bounced back from the strike. After receiving a quick jab in his unprotected thigh, Graull screamed in fury.

“You are more annoying than a  _ gnat _ !”

The raging screech he let out was animalistic. Rex, moving too quickly to stop, couldn’t do much against Graull’s next attack. The lightning beam that hit him was finally enough to send him sprawling. For a moment, Mòrag was terrified that Graull would be as cruel as to kill a child, though it seemed he was in a hurry.

He pointed his sword at both of them. “You are lucky I have places to be, though mark my words, Special Inquisitor, this war is now official. You’d best prepare yourself for the worst.”

Before he left, Graull stopped and turned back to give her a cold-blooded grin.

“You may be the strongest driver in Mor Ardain, but  _ I _ am the strongest driver in Uraya.”

“Come back…” Rex muttered weakly as he tried to get up. 

Mòrag didn’t even bother trying to move. Her arm sore and the rest of her numb from exhaustion, she allowed her head to collapse back into the snow.

Everything was ruined. Everything they had fought for was in peril, now that Graull had officially declared war. Now, there was nothing to prevent him from having his soldiers kill, maim, torture and rape as they pleased. Everyone in Elysium was vulnerable, not just Mor Ardain. Mòrag knew by now that what drove his bloodlust was not some vendetta he held for them, but for the fact he was a sadist who enjoyed conflict for the sake of it.

What hope was there against a man like that? The only thing anyone could do was kill him, yet who was to say he hadn’t prepared another heir in his place? Someone who would only repeat the cycle?

Mòrag didn’t try to stop the tears of frustration from falling. She hadn’t cried in weeks, months even, but this was too much. She couldn’t handle it anymore.


	11. A Woman's Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Mor Ardain is preparing for the upcoming war, Brighid becomes concerned with Mòrag's behaviour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a warning, there is depression and panic attacks/mentions of trauma in this chapter. even the most level-headed of people have their limits.

****Awaking to the feel of soft, clean linen, Mòrag groaned and turned over deeper into her nest of blankets.

She couldn’t remember what day it was. Hopefully, it was a weekend, because the last thing she wanted to do was get up and get dressed. Even if it wasn’t, then perhaps she could get an extra hour or so in without anyone noticing.

It was only when she rolled over onto her back that she felt a sudden thirst and a pretty bad headache. How long had she been asleep? Mòrag groggily sat up and rubbed her temples. She glanced over to the clock on the nightstand. It was past noon. She’d usually never sleep in  _this_ long. It really must be the weekend in that case, because Brighid would have awoken her by now.

Then the image of Brighid lying on the snow near her came flooding back.

All of the previous evening’s memories came bursting out of the reservoir in Mòrag’s mind. She gasped and gripped the duvet tightly. She remembered fighting in the Neo-Gormott mountains against Raghnall, having him at her mercy before the Urayan king himself interrupted. She remembered the sickly, metallic smell of iron as he dangled her in the air like she weighed nothing. She had some vague memories of Rex, but what had happened after that? Did they win? Did they _lose_?

The Special Inquisitor almost fell out of her queen-sized bed in an attempt to get dressed. Having no time to get her uniform, she left her hair down and got her casuals on. She didn’t bother getting a drink from her ensuite to soothe her raging headache, either. She needed to know what had happened.

There was no Brighid waiting for her outside her door, though she did manage to find Padraig in a hallway further down.

“Your Grace?” he started as he blinked at Mòrag’s dishevelled appearance.

“What the hell happened? What about the Reubaltaich—”

Padraig stopped her from shaking his shoulders in panic. “Your Grace, I suggest going back to your quarters to rest. His Majesty insisted you have the week off.”

“I don’t _care_ ,” she hissed. “Did we lose, Padraig? Tell me!”

“Well…” the captain trailed off. Mòrag stared at him with wide, expectant eyes. Why wasn’t he talking? She had asked him a direct question! She kept her grip on him, fingers trembling. “I’m afraid so, ma’am. The remainder of the Reubaltaich escaped after Uraya attacked. We managed to save a portion of our forces, but most of them…”

She dropped her hands. Mòrag staggered back, ignoring Padraig’s worried look. So her soldiers had been slaughtered by Graull’s men. She hadn’t seen anyone else besides from him, so they must have been elsewhere in the forest. How had they found her after Graull had left? While it didn’t make much sense, what made even less sense was the fact Graull had let them live. He had been about to kill her before Rex intervened, hadn’t he? Perhaps it was just his own sick sense of humour that stopped him.

It seemed that Padraig could see the questions spinning around in her head, as he said to her as kindly as possible, “I’ll send Lady Brighid over to explain more to you, ma’am. In the meantime, for His Majesty’s sake, you should take it easy.”

In resignation, she nodded silently. She still felt pretty horrendous. Her arm was no longer sore, so Nia must have healed her while she was out, but her head was pounding and her throat was so dry she was launched into a coughing fit. She slowly walked back to her room while Padraig scurried off to fetch her blade. Usually, she would have insisted on finding out for herself, but she felt so… tired. Mentally, as well as physically. If not for the amount of questions she was dying to ask, then she would have gladly slept the next week away.

After getting a drink and taking painkillers, Mòrag felt slightly better. She sat on the edge of her bed, eyes stuck to her lap while she awaited Brighid’s arrival.

Her blade did not take long to show up. Knocking at her door, Brighid made her way in with a gentle smile. She’d even brought food with her. She placed the tray down on the nightstand while she stood before her driver.

“How are you feeling, Lady Mòrag?”

“Shit.”

Brighid laughed lightly. “That is to be expected.”

“What about you? Your core was damaged,” Mòrag replied, thinking of the bolt of lightning that had struck the blue crystal on Brighid’s chest. It hadn’t been enough to cause a crack, but it was enough to render her immobile for quite some time.

“Oh, don’t you fret about me. I should be the least of your concerns.”

Mòrag thought about how she should word her next few questions as she nibbled at the toast and jam Brighid had brought. When was the last time she’d eaten? Yesterday afternoon? No wonder she felt awful. Brighid waited patiently to finish before saying anything else, and she ended up sitting next to her as Mòrag opened her mouth to talk again.

“What happened, Brighid?”

“Uraya launched a surprise attack, ma’am. They arrived via airship and unfortunately killed two thirds of our forces. I’m glad to report that Rex and the others are unharmed, although… I’m afraid…”

She knew what she was going to say. Mòrag lowered her head. She had heard it straight from Graull’s lips. They were at war with Uraya. It was done.

Why had it come to this? She knew they hadn’t really gotten a chance to discuss things personally with Uraya, but they had done everything they asked. They had given them all the ore and materials they requested in trading, even when they were giving more than they received. Niall and his advisors had apologised until they were blue in the face for the Reubaltaich, and Graull hadn’t given them the slightest hint of decency. How could he _do_ this?

The war wouldn’t only affect the citizens in Neo-Mor Ardain, it would also affect his own. Graull had knowingly subjected his civilians to murder, thievery and genocide from the opposing party. Mòrag would never allow her soldiers to do such things, yet she couldn’t do anything about bandits and soldiers from other countries. Did Graull really not care?

She didn’t know why she was asking herself that. Mòrag knew the answer.

“What do we do now, then?” she asked quietly.

“His Majesty wants you to heal before you do anything else. It’s his express order. I’ve organised everything for you, Padraig and the other captains are dealing with the recent losses and a state funeral for our deceased soldiers has been planned for next week. The public are already aware of the situation.”

She supposed she couldn’t argue against that. If Niall had ordered her to take the week off, then she didn’t have much of a choice except to obey. The workaholic part of her was screaming in protest, but the logical part of her was thankful. She hadn’t given herself a proper break in far too long.

Brighid left shortly afterwards to give her some space. Mòrag then spent the rest of the afternoon waiting for her headache to go away and brooding to herself. She replayed yesterday’s events over and over in her mind, asking herself why it hadn’t gone another way. It was useless and a waste of time, although she couldn’t help it.

By the time the evening crept around, she was beginning to feel stir crazy from sitting in her room all day. So she got up, brushed her hair and slipped out. Not wearing her uniform around the palace was strange but she was going to have to get used to it for the rest of the week.

Mòrag found the others safe and sound in one of the parlours. Zeke, Tora and Rex were slouched over on the sofas and the rest were sitting glumly at the large dining table. Nia had her head resting on the wood, while Mythra and Pyra propped their chins up with their hand, nonchalantly staring at out of the window. The whole room was misted with a depressive atmosphere.

“Mòrag’s here!” Tora yelled once he saw her enter. Everyone jumped up.

“Thank the Architect you’re alright!” Pyra said happily.

“She’s back to join the crew,” Zeke exclaimed as she settled herself among them. They all looked her up and down, far too unused to seeing her without the peaked hat and dark jacket. They knew she was slim, except without the armour protecting her shoulder and hips, she looked much more petite.

“Likewise,” she murmured into the tea a servant had brought out for her. “I trust you are all well?”

“‘Course we are. What about you? I heard you met the bloody _king_!” said Nia.

The memory caused a chill to run down her spine. No matter how much she wanted to forget, Mòrag was unable to rid herself of the image of Graull bearing down on her. She knew Nia had healed her, although her arm _still_ felt like it was being forceably yanked from her.

“I assume he got away?” she asked.

“Unfortunately,” Rex grumbled, glaring at nothing in particular. “I tried to go after him but he got me good. All I could do was go looking for help.”

Ah, so it had been Rex that had requested backup. Mòrag gave him a nod of thanks. She owed him her life, after all. If it weren’t for him, then Graull would have sawed her in half with that hulk of a sword he carried. Her short life could have been snuffed out just like that. She’d never really taken into consideration how risky her job was, or how many times she had narrowly avoided death. However, she had accepted that the moment she had adorned her uniform for the first time. If she had to die, then she would do so for her country. Did the thought scare her? Of course it did, but she valued honour more.

Not to say dying would end up being a good thing. Without her, then Mor Ardain was left without a Special Inquisitor and an exceptionally strong driver. They had only six captains in the army left rather than ten, and it put the royal family at greater risk of extinction. There was a lot to consider.

Mòrag continued to drink her tea while the rest discussed the situation amongst themselves. While she had been unconscious, the remainder of the Ardainian troops had escaped from the assault and dragged any injured, including Mòrag and Rex, all the way to the Neo-Mor Ardain border. They had been lucky that a guard station had been nearby to assist them in escorting them back to the capital. She was surprised she hadn’t woken up at all during it, though she supposed she _had_ been exhausted.

As for the Urayans, they had apparently retreated once they were satisfied they had delivered their message. Scouts had been dispatched to look for any survivors earlier today, though none had been found. All that was left were a heap of bodies, Ardainians and Reubaltaich alike.

Neither Steaphan or Raghnall had been found, dead or alive. Mòrag was fairly certain she’d managed to kill Raghnall, but if his body couldn’t be located, then there was a high chance the bastard escaped. Great, she would have to track him down yet again.

The only good part of Uraya’s invasion was that they’d taken out a massive chunk of the Reubaltaich for them. At least 50 corpses had been found, meaning they’d halved the rebels population. Mòrag hoped that would keep them at bay for a while.

After only half an hour, Mòrag felt like she had had enough for one day. She politely excused herself from the group to return to her chambers. For some reason, all of her energy had run out and the sounds of other people talking became grating. Her brain was overloaded with everything that had happened recently. Shaking her head, she headed towards her room before she stopped herself. She hadn’t seen Niall since she’d left for the Neo-Gormott mountains. Should she at least say hello to him? Would he shout at her for leaving her room?

She found herself heading for the throne room anyway. A part of her wanted to see him.

Niall was about to resign himself for the day when she arrived. She was a tad embarrassed to present herself to him in just a blouse and no shoes, though she still entered.

“Your Majesty,” she began. Niall turned to see her, expression unreadable. “I want to begin with apologising for everything—”

She was cut off when Niall launched himself at her like a bullet. Gasping, she struggled to keep herself steady as Niall pulled her into a tight embrace. Burying his head in her neck, she heard him say in a muffled voice, “I’m so glad you’re alright.”

“Majesty…”

Niall pulled back his head to pout in a childish way, very unbecoming of an emperor. She stared back in surprise.

“No, enough of that. You’re my sister. I want you to call me Niall, just for this week.”

Was that an order? Mòrag couldn’t remember the last time they addressed each other by name regularly. Well, there _was_ that incident where she though Bana had killed him, and she had been so distraught she couldn’t stop herself from crying his name loudly. She let out a sigh.

“Alright... Niall.”

He beamed with glistening eyes. “Good. Well then, how are you?”

She straightened her blouse once he let go. Niall quickly wiped away the tears that had started to form and tried to regain his royal posture. It was painful to see him almost cry, but she didn’t say anything about it. He’d probably feel awkward.

“Um, not too bad, given the circumstances.” Her headache had gone, if that counted.

Niall blew out a shaky breath and wandered over to his desk, still piled high with papers. “I heard what happened. I… I just can’t believe it. I don’t _want_ to believe it. All this time, I was foolishly hoping that Graull would see sense, although…”

Poor Niall. Not yet an adult and he was being forced to deal with an official war. He’d had a lucky escape with Uraya back in Alrest, though that luck had now died out. Mòrag watched him as he began to pace. Her heart went out to him. The things she would to take the enormous burden off his young shoulders so he could do things that other boys did at his age. She wanted to see him play games. She wanted to see him have arm wrestling matches with friends. She did _not_ want to see him cooped up in the throne room all day, stressing himself to death.

Unfortunately, this was the fate that had been bestowed upon them both. There was nothing either of them could do except hold their head high and do their job gracefully. However, when Mòrag glanced down, she noticed that Niall had bitten his nails until his fingers were on the verge of bleeding. He was going to have to wear gloves if he didn’t want his advisors noticing.

Their conversation trailed off at the mention of the recent war they had been plunged into. Mòrag went over yesterday’s events, though Niall had already heard all the details. He shuddered when she mentioned Graull.

As the two felt tired enough to retire themselves for the night, Niall went for another hug. This time, Mòrag returned it with more enthusiasm. They were still family, no matter what the circumstances were.

“Take it easy this week. I just want you to recover before you go back to work,” he had said to her.

Mòrag smiled as genuinely as she could manage. “As you wish, sire.”

* * *

 

Thus began her week off.

To Brighid’s concern, Mòrag spent days at a time not leaving her room. She slept far longer than she usually did, and while that was fine, it became worrying when that time exceeded ten hours. Brighid made sure to check up on her regularly yet she was met with the same scene every instance, Mòrag staring blankly out of the window or curled up in bed in the dark.

It wasn’t as if Mòrag _wanted_ to do nothing. She wanted to work, wanted to get things done, though she couldn’t bring herself to do _anything_. Even eating was unappealing. She would often read in her spare time, but she hadn’t the willpower to get through a single page. She had tried and failed.

Another thing that was unusual was that her temper was flaring. She hated herself for it, but if Brighid stared at her for too long, or asked one too many questions, Mòrag couldn’t stop herself from snapping at her. Brighid never complained, never once took offense or argued back, yet Mòrag could see the worry on her face. Even _that_ angered her. She’d had enough of everyone feeling sorry for her, everyone giving her pity because of what had happened with Graull. She was a grown woman, she thought bitterly to herself. She didn’t need coddling.

It was day five of Mòrag’s break when Brighid finally said something.

Still in her room with the curtains drawn and her bed a mess of blankets that she hadn't bothered to neaten up, Mòrag glared when her blade came in and folded her arms crossly.

“Lady Mòrag, I know this is your week off, but I really am getting worried. You aren’t taking care of yourself.”

The Special Inquisitor scoffed and stubbornly turned away. “I’m resting just as everyone wants me to, aren’t I?”

Brighid frowned. “There is a difference between resting and hiding yourself away completely.”

Mòrag groaned. She allowed herself to fall over onto the mattress, refusing to look at Brighid directly. As she kept quiet, Brighid felt herself becoming impatient.

“Ma’am, I am being serious. I’m concerned for your health.”

“You’re not my mother, Brighid. I can take care of myself.”

“Except you’re _not_.”

Shooting up to snarl threateningly, Mòrag finally looked Brighid in the eye for the first time in days. The blade recoiled at seeing her furious expression. It looked nothing like her.

“What do you want me to do?” she seethed. “We’re at _war_ , Brighid. I don’t know if that means anything to you, but it’s not something that’s fun to think about, considering it’s all _my_ fault we’re in this mess. For Architect’s sake, just leave me _alone_.”

“Why are you implying that it’s _your_ fault?”

She shook her head. “Because I’m a useless soldier. You’re wasting your time with me.”

Brighid couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Flabbergasted, she threw her hands up in despair and walked a few paces away. Never in her life had she heard her driver speak such things about herself. She knew Mòrag had some insecurity issues regarding her status, although she’d never acted _like this_. This was not normal for her, no matter how much she tried to insist she was fine.

It wasn’t as if this odd behaviour had appeared in the past week, either. Mòrag had been moody for months. She recalled finding her with a suspiciously bloody hand the day Eurica had visited, and how she’d ranted about it. And to further prove it was not only Brighid that had noticed, just about everyone else had asked if she was alright, too. The irritability, the moodswings, the lack of energy, it all added up to _one_ thing.

Spinning back around to face her, Brighid forced the next few words out.

“Lady Mòrag, I think you may have depression.”

That had not been the wisest idea. Lurching to her feet in an instant, Mòrag tightened her fists in a rage. She’d just been in several close-call battles with rebels from her own army while constantly dealing with Uraya breathing down their necks, and now that she was rightfully stressed out from it all, that somehow meant she was _mentally ill_?

“How dare you!”

Brighid held her ground despite Mòrag’s outburst. “I say it only out of worry for you. You have not been acting like yourself recently—”

“Oh, and that means that I’m depressed?” she snapped. Marching over to stand inches away from her, Mòrag hissed in Brighid’s face. “I’m _fine_ , Brighid! How many times do I have to tell you?”

It wasn’t until Brighid went out to grip Mòrag’s wrist that she had an entirely new reaction. Unbeknownst to her, Brighid had grabbed the arm that Graull had forcefully held her by back on the mountain. She had only seen it out of the corner of her eye, but it had looked painful and terrifying. The anger disappearing, Mòrag was overcome with fear as her eyes unfocused.

“Don’t touch me!” she cried out, bringing up her right arm to smack Brighid away.

Before she could strike, Brighid stopped her.

Stunned, Mòrag stumbled back. Her breaths were rapid and shallow, her chest rising up and down violently. She raised a hand to her closed up throat, struggling to breathe. She was having a panic attack.

“Lady Mòrag!” Brighid called out in a desperate attempt to snap her out of it. She caught Mòrag before she fell back and held her against her chest. She could feel her driver trembling in terror.

They stayed like that for a long time. Mòrag brought her hands away from her face and wrapped them around Brighid’s waist. She clung on desperately, trying to stop the sobs from wracking her body. Her blade said nothing, only calmly waiting for her to recover. She did her best to absorb the dread that was torturing her.

Once Mòrag had stopped quivering, Brighid let go to look at her. Her eyes were still wide and glassy, but she was breathing again. She shakily sat down.

“Are you alright?”

She nodded feebly. Looking down, Mòrag fixed her eyes to the floor, now once again avoiding Brighid’s gaze.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be,” Brighid said comfortingly. She sat down next to her. “You had a panic attack. It’s not your fault.”

“What’s happening to me, Brighid?”

She’d never heard Mòrag sound so broken. While the shaking had stopped, the trauma that had been hidden behind Mòrag’s stony face for all these years was finally beginning to show itself. Brighid was sure she was only aware of a mere fraction of it. She didn’t dare ask what the rest could possibly be, but she knew it had to be eating her alive. No wonder she had reacted so violently. If she had been containing all that emotion, then it was bound to eventually retaliate against her.

Brighid thought for a while of what to say. The last thing she wanted to do was to upset Mòrag further, yet she still wanted to be honest. That panic attack was proof she wasn’t well. Mòrag was fearless, the strongest driver in the empire. She had faced unimaginable horrors without blinking an eye. Even if something visibly upset her, she dealt with it quickly and silently.

Or was that the case? Had it been an act this whole time? Was it all just coming out at this very moment?

Placing her hand on her back softly, Brighid hummed. “Look, I cannot say for sure, but I believe it would be good for you to see a doctor. You can get something to help the anxiety, at the very least.”

“A doctor?” Mòrag repeated. “I can’t see a _doctor_ , I’m the Special Inquisitor.”

Brighid frowned. “That doesn’t mean you are immune to the effects of illness. Please, Lady Mòrag. At least get a professional opinion.”

It took a long time before Mòrag said anything. Sighing heavily, she finally looked at her. “Fine. But you have to _swear_ to me, Brighid, that you will not tell _any_ of the others without my permission. I don’t want anyone else fussing over me.”

“You have my word.”

* * *

 

Mòrag kept her promise. The next day, Brighid made her an appointment with one of the palace’s doctors. They had the best in the country, always ready on demand at any time of the week. It made things a hell of a lot easier than the things that many other citizens had to deal with when finding one.

Brighid had offered to go in with her, though Mòrag had refused, stubbornly going in alone.

The doctor had been surprised to hear of what was going on. Brighid had slipped him a note in advance, giving him her own report of Mòrag’s recent behaviour. She knew her driver wouldn’t be entirely truthful out of pride, and nobody else had witnessed her mental breakdown the day before.

Sitting stiffly on the chair in the doctor’s office, Mòrag looked around the room while the doctor went over his conclusive options.

“Well, Your Grace, it seems you have been suffering from moderate depression from some time, according to both your and Lady Brighid’s feedback.”

Oh, wonderful. The news Mòrag didn’t want to hear yet knew she was going to have to.

“I see,” was all she said.

The doctor looked at her sympathetically before moving on. “I will prescribe you some antidepressants to take in the meantime. While there is nothing much I can do about the situation you are in, I feel like medication would be beneficial in regulating your moods.”

Did she want to take medication? At first, the idea repulsed her. Mòrag hated admitting she was ill. She could be on her death bed and she'd play it off as nothing. She couldn’t stand admitting she was vulnerable just like anyone else. However, she knew if she said no, then Brighid would be even more angry with her. After staring at the green prescription slip for far too long, she took it from his hands.

Brighid had been waiting for her outside. She expectantly glanced at her. “Well?”

Mòrag showed her the slip. “I’ve been given this.”

“Very well. I will assist you in regulating it.” She was about to protest before Brighid stopped her. “I won’t be hearing any objections, Lady Mòrag. I care far too much about you.”

That was that, then. Mòrag was stuck taking two pills once a day for the next three months. Not only that, but there was an entire list of side effects, including muscle spasms, insomnia, drowsiness, further irritability and nausea. She sighed as she read them. She was going to be a _whole_ lot of fun to be around for the next several weeks.

When the last two days of her break were up, Mòrag found it easier than expected to get back into her uniform. Perhaps staying in her room in the dark for an entire week had been a bad idea after all. She hadn’t the energy to do much else, though it felt good to be outside in the open again. Everyone was happy to see her, even the footsoldiers.

Her friends had been worried. She wasn’t surprised, as she hadn’t seen them once in the past week. Nia, Pyra and Mythra were the first ones to find her.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Nia began. “Everything all right?”

Mòrag nodded slowly. “Yes, it just turns out I had taken more of a beating than I first thought.”

Nia frowned yet didn’t ask any further questions. Her healing was top notch, after all. She had been sure she’d healed Mòrag inside and out.

“You’re good now, right?” said Mythra.

“It takes more than that to keep me at bay.”

She hoped that would be the case. Upon returning to her duties, Mòrag had only just realised the absolute mess everything was in. Niall’s advisors were in a tizz, frantically dealing with all of the paperwork they’d had to compose to alert the other nations of their predicament. There was also the matter of forming an official alliance with Gormott, however that would have to be left until everyone was on more stable ground.

Her brother had been happy to see her back at work but there was no denying the concern in his eyes. Mòrag dismissed him, insisting she had recovered, though kept her condition a secret. He was going to have to know at some point, but... not right now.

Thumping her head on her desk, Mòrag groaned. Time to finally deal with the onslaught of work she had missed.


	12. To Prepare for the Worst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mòrag and her brother return to Neo-Gormott to form an official alliance while Rex gets an idea on how to make things better for the Special Inquisitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the short chapter, didn't have a lot of oomph in me for this one, but i wanted to get something out. hope you guys are enjoying.

****The state funeral was about as happy as a funeral could be. The main group, along with the emperor, several members of Ardainian military and Alba Cavanich’s population all stood before the palace gates.

It was raining. The perfect ambience, Mòrag thought as she held her gaze low, the metallic visor shielding her eyes. She watched as raindrops slid down from the tip and fell to the floor. While she wore her usual uniform, she had adorned the national sash over her right shoulder for the event, decorated with her medals.

Niall had already finished up his speech, where he had spoken of the soldiers brave attempt to capture the rebels only to be ambushed by Urayan forces. Each and every one of their names had been engraved on a statue, now soaked with the rain.

The actual ceremony had only been half an hour, but some of the group lingered afterwards as the public returned home. Niall had been rushed inside to get him out of the rain lest he get ill, along with Tora and Poppi (the former so that his damp feathers didn’t weigh him down).

Mòrag stood in front of the statue, piled high with roses, for a long time. She scanned her eyes over each name. Some of them she had spoken to personally. Some had been temporary Gormotti troops, fresh out of training. They didn’t deserve to die so young for such a pointless reason. She didn’t want to know what their families were feeling. There was a chance that Gormott would refuse to ally considering their borrowed troops had been killed. She couldn’t even blame them.

Stuck within her thoughts, she only just noticed that Rex had made his way over to her. He gave her a sad smile. “So, what do we do next, Mòrag?”

“We ensure the safety of our civilians,” she responded. “Everyone will be required to take residence in Alba Cavanich until this war is over.”

That wouldn’t be too difficult. Almost everyone in the country resided in the capital anyway. There were only a few settlements outside it, and they were not heavily populated. Alba Cavanich still had plenty of room left.

“What about Gormott?”

Mòrag bit her lip. “I am unsure. They will be contacted, and that’s all I can say.”

The rest of the week was uneventful. As Mòrag was still easing in to her job after her time off, Brighid had been busier than usual, making many of her arrangements for her. Mòrag was grateful, because the side effects of her medication was kicking in, and it was not pleasant.

First, there was the nausea. She was never actually sick, though Mòrag had been forced to spend two nights curled up on the bathroom floor in agony. Then there was the drowsiness. If she remained focused, then everything seemed to be fine, except more than once she had caught herself nodding off on the job. Once those were up, she had to deal with the muscle spasms. They were the least annoying but it quickly became awkward when her hand jerked when writing or when trying to hold something. Having to explain herself was never easy.

“Just a bit chilly,” she muttered after Zeke had asked why her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Architect, _save_ her.

It thankfully wore off after another fortnight. By then, most of the Ardainian citizens had been relocated to the capital, inside its secured walls. The only ones living outside were the guards. They could sleep in relative peace, yet the threat of invasion kept them all awake.

The one thing Mòrag hadn’t been looking forward to when she got back was the civilian requests. Many protestors had gathered in front of the palace demanding information, yet there was nothing else to say. Uraya had announced war over territorial reasons and that was that. Niall had done everything in his power to prevent it. All they could do now was hope for an alliance with Gormott and pray that Graull would see reason before too much destruction was caused.

“Should we make reservations to visit Bryn-Cerrig again?” Niall asked one of his advisors. Mòrag stood nearby.

“I think that would be wise, sire,” the advisor responded, writing furiously on a clipboard. “I shall have a message sent at once.”

The emperor slid into his throne as he waited for the next request to be dealt with. He sighed miserably. Mòrag stepped closer, though kept at a respectable distance.

“Majesty?”

He glanced at her. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

“We will get through this,” she said softly. “Graull cannot keep this war up forever. I hate to say this, but the Reubaltaich did us a favour by cutting down his army. Hopefully he will see that he won’t have enough soldiers for a large invasion.”

Neither of them had any idea how big Uraya’s forces were. They knew they had more of a population thanks to their healthy titan and steady food supply in the past, and it was assumed they had also reproduced since their arrival to Elysium. Mòrag just had to hold on to the theory they were on even grounds, because without Gormott’s help, they would be at a serious disadvantage.

“I wish that you are right, dear sister.”

She bowed as they concluding their meeting. The day coming to an end, Mòrag repeated her usual routine of making sure everything on her schedule had been done. She’d had to dispatch more soldiers and arrange for recruitments, as well as having to send her blades out to fetch any stray civilians outside of the capital’s walls. It had been a very busy few weeks. Time did not go any slower when the day of returning to Neo-Gormott loomed upon them.

From what everyone knew, the Chancellor had been pretty upset about the war and the loss of some of his soldiers, though didn’t blame them for it.

Mòrag thought about bringing Brighid along for emotional support, but when they day arrived, the blade was so busy dealing with formal arrangements that Mòrag decided to leave it.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come along?” she asked as the two stood at the airship docking station. The sounds of engines whirring was loud in the ears so they were forced to shout. “I really don’t mind. It would not be a bother.”

“You’re dealing with everything better than I could, Brighid,” Mòrag responded as she held her hand over her face to stop her hair from blinding her. “We will only be 24 hours at the most. Everything will be fine.”

Brighid eventually agreed. She’d been watching her driver like a Rhogul to make sure she had been doing well, and since Mòrag had been taking her medication regularly, she decided she could spare one day. Any more than that and she would have insisted on coming along. Instead, Mòrag took Aegeon and KOS-MOS to accompany her while leaving Brighid to deal with her affairs. She was not upset about it. With the Special Inquisitors… ‘condition’, she would rather do the bulk of the work herself until Mòrag was more stable.

When she got back to the palace, she found herself glad that she didn’t leave for Neo-Gormott. The army captains clung to her like lost children.

The main group were nowhere in sight. Brighid knew that Zeke and Pandoria were doing their own patrol outside of the capital, though she didn’t know about the others. She’d hardly seen them because she’d been so busy. Eventually, she shook the thoughts from her mind. They’d turn up.

* * *

 

The trip to Neo-Gormott had been much like the last one. Due to heavy rains in the south, it had been quite late by the time they arrived. Mòrag had assumed the meeting would be postponed until tomorrow but it seemed the Chancellor was eager to discuss things with them. Accompanying Niall to the City Hall of Bryn-Cerrig, she kept her head low.

“Welcome back, Your Majesty, Special Inquisitor,” said Llewellyn at the City Hall’s entrance.

“Chancellor Llewellyn,” Niall responded with a nod of the head. “I would like to begin with a formal apology.”

It wasn’t his fault, so why was he apologising? Mòrag listened to Niall has he went over the ambush’s events and how the Urayans attacked without warning. Llewellyn ushered them inside to talk about the matter in more detail. The atmosphere was thick and heavy with just the two of them and some guards present. Not that Aegeon was bad company, though he wasn’t a very good comforter like Brighid. Mòrag didn’t even bother trying to ask KOS-MOS for moral support.

The two rare blades waited outside as the Chancellor brought Mòrag and Niall to the room they had their discussion in last time. Unlike Llewellyn, his aides looked furious.

“You finally pushed Uraya over the edge!” one snapped, slamming his fist against the table.

“We did no such thing!” Mòrag retorted, standing in front of Niall.

Before the Chancellor could stop them from arguing, his other aide joined in on the verbal assault. “Nonsense, you must have provoked them! Why else would Uraya attack like that?”

“Quiet!” Llewellyn shouted at them. They shrank back. “Nobody here is responsible! You are both well aware of how unstable King Graull is! There is no one to blame except him!”

Sitting down at their places was beyond uncomfortable. Niall avoided eye contact with everyone, staring at his lap. He would have probably started biting his nails again if he hadn’t done so on the way over. Mòrag wished she could rest her hand on his shoulder to comfort him, but they were in formal circumstances now. They could do nothing except act professionally.

“Now then,” the Chancellor started as he sat down, “I suppose we should come to terms of that alliance.”

“An alliance? But, sir, _she_ got our soldiers killed!” An aide jabbed a finger of accusation straight at Mòrag. She glowered.

“Uraya attacked us. There was nothing we could do.”

The aide scoffed at her defense yet said nothing more as Llewellyn glared at him in warning. He slowly turned back to the emperor. He appeared conflicted. There was pain in eyes, showing he really did care about the losses Gormott had suffered because of Graull, but he was trying his hardest not to point fingers to soothe his frustration. He was mature despite his youth.

“Nevertheless, we need some sort of plan in place. Your Majesty, if you are still interested in an alliance, I am up to debate the conditions.”

Niall brightened slightly. “Yes, Chancellor. I am more than willing to make compromises if necessary.”

The two spoke for a long time. Mòrag tried to ignore the glares the aides were giving her as she sat and listened. There was talk about merging armies, or keeping them seperate, or swapping halves. Resources were discussed as well as the fact that tax rates would go up to fund their military. Niall hated nothing more than taxing his country, though with how badly they were faring, he wasn’t going to have a choice.

After over two hours, they finally agreed on a plan.

Their armies would not be joined as one though would act as allies. They would trade resources every month, Gormott’s fodder for Mor Ardain’s ore. As for drivers, the best would be rotated around the two countries as to give both varying defenses. Their borders would be guarded as normal. Lastly, they would share knowledge of Uraya and report anything that happened with them. It was a good plan.

Niall was taken to sign some papers once more, leaving Mòrag with the aides. Perfect.

“Great, now we’ve got _you_ to worry about as well as Uraya,” snarled the one on the left.

The Special Inquisitor clenched her fists. “How am _I_ a threat?”

They guffawed. “How many failed missions have you been having lately, Special Inquisitor? Far too many for someone of your ranking. You will bring Mor Ardain to its knees _for_ Uraya, just you see.”

Furious, Mòrag stood up and left the room. No official had ever dared to speak like that to her. Worst of all, she didn’t know if they were _right_. She had failed far too many times as of late, and due to that, people had died. Was it really her fault? Was she going to ruin her own country?

Her blades looked at her in surprise as she stormed out of the meeting room.

“Master?” KOS-MOS inquired.

“It’s nothing,” she mumbled half-heartedly before making her way towards the building’s exit. Niall’s guards would just have to bring him out to her.

They had to be holding a grudge. They must be. Mòrag knew plenty of Gormotti did, even though Mor Ardain had left them alone since their arrival to Elysium. After all that she had been through lately regarding Graull, the war, and her mental breakdown, she couldn’t afford to start blaming herself any more than she already did.

* * *

 

Rex kicked at the carpets of the dark hallways. The teen sulked to himself.

He couldn’t relax with the war going on around him, so he’d resorted to pacing the corridors until he got tired. Not that he could see much, only the outlines of furniture and doorways.

He’d managed to stay calm at the state funeral, but the anger bubbling up inside him was beginning to overboil. In all honesty, Rex didn’t think he’d been this furious in his entire life. During the time he’d spent in Alba Cavanich, he’d prayed to the now dead Architect to stop this impending doom. All for nothing. Right before his very eyes, Graull had announced war for no reason other than to satisfy his bloodthirst.

 _How could he do this? How could he do this?_ The words echoed in his mind repeatedly as he stomped down the hallway, not caring who was awake or not. Rex tightened his fists. He was going to have to unleash his anger somehow otherwise he’d end up screaming. Perhaps he’d spar with someone tomorrow.

“Maybe Zeke will spar with me,” he muttered to himself. “Nah, he’s patrolling. What about Mòrag…?”

He stopped. Goodness, he couldn’t ask Mòrag. She was far too stressed out.

In fact, it concerned him. He’d been OK with her having a week off, but then she never left her room. Brighid had to bring all of her food to her, and when Rex asked what was wrong, the blade was very vague about the details. She’d said that Mòrag was still injured from her encounter with Graull, yet Nia had healed her, hadn’t she? Rex knew something was up. What, exactly, he couldn’t tell, but Mòrag being this withdrawn wasn’t normal.

Maybe he could try and do something for her. She’d helped him on his journey to find Elysium, had she not? Even if they had gotten off to a rocky start, she’d turned into one of his most valuable friends. It hurt to see her like this.

However, what could he do? Rex groaned loudly as he ran a hand through his hair.  As he swung his arm down, he felt his fingers brush against a rope. He blinked in shock.

It was a thick, red cord, attached to golden poles separating him from the wall. When he looked up, he caught a glimpse of the many oil paintings decorating the place. There was one of Niall, framed in solid gold, with his name beneath it. Then there was lots of old monarchs Rex had never heard of. Nothing really interested him until he wandered down to the left and saw two paintings in particular.

There was Niall again, recently born, cradled in the arms of who Rex assumed was his mother. The 48th emperor stood next to her, clearly quite a bit older than one would expect of someone with a newborn.  The other painting was one of another couple with their own child. Rex didn’t recognise any of them, the names written beneath not familiar to him. Their child was a girl judging from the pink silks, while the couple were draped in very royal clothing. However, there was no year of ascension listed. Were they not monarchs?

“Rex?”

He turned to a glowing blue light. Brighid, seeming quite tired as she held a stack of papers, was looking at him in confusion.

“Uh, evening, Brighid,” he greeted awkwardly. “Just up and about. How are you?”

She fluttered her eyelashes as she processed what he had said. “I was returning to my quarters.”

“You must have had a busy day.”

The stack of papers in her arms told him the answer. Brighid sighed and shook her head. “You have no idea.”

She placed them down to stretch her arms. The light lit up the portraits so Rex got a much better look at them. He saw how intense their gazes were, all of the past reigning emperors seemingly judging him. He felt small. He must have spent too long staring at them as Brighid furrowed her eyebrows in concern.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, uh, I was just wondering, who are they?” Rex asked as he pointed to the portrait of the couple with their daughter.

Brighid’s expression turned from confusion to one of softness. “Ah, those are Lady Mòrag’s parents, Lord Eandraig and Lady Sverre.”

Mòrag’s parents? Rex pursed his lips as he studied their faces. He supposed he could see the resemblence, especially with her mother. She had exactly the same black hair and brown eyes, while her father seemed to possess the same aura of strength that Mòrag carried. He knew that Mòrag had been adopted by her uncle, the 48th emperor, but she had never told him exactly why. What had happened to her parents?

He cleared his throat. “Did something happen to them?”

“Lord Eandraig perished in battle when Lady Mòrag was five or so, and her mother left when she was still an infant. The 48th emperor thought it was best to take in his brother’s daughter since he had no children at the time and didn’t expect to.”

“So her mother is still alive?” Brighid nodded. Interesting. “Why… why did she leave?”

“I am unsure, Rex. We have never met, though I heard she wasn’t very maternal.”

He couldn’t understand why any parent would leave their child. Rex would give anything to have his dearly departed mother back. He knew he had only been a baby when she passed, but nothing could replace the love of a mother.

Then it hit him. If Mòrag’s mother was still alive, then perhaps he could _reunite_ them. In his excitement, he hopped up and down and grabbed Brighid’s shoulders. “So, uh, where does this Lady Sverre live?”

“I don’t know, she has been out of touch with the royal family for years,” Brighid replied in surprise. “Why?”

Damn. That made things a bit more difficult. Knowing Brighid would probably disapprove of his plan due to how busy Mòrag was, he decided to not ask anymore questions. He could do his own research. Giving her a quick farewell, he bounded back to his room with new vigor. If he could manage to pull this off, then at least he would do something useful. He had done barely anything since he’d arrived, besides from assisted on missions that had ended up being complete failures.

This time, he was going to do things right, even if it was something minor.


	13. Mother Dearest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rex sets out with Zeke to search for Mòrag's mother, though are surprised with who they find.

****Rex charged through the palace hallways the next morning. He’d heard Zeke had recently gotten back to the palace, so the young driver was on a quest to find him.

He was so excited to go over his plan. It was genius, if he did say so himself. Rex couldn’t stop the grin that was forming as he darted in and out of rooms in search of his friend. The Tantal prince had been out on a patrol with Pandoria, helping out the Ardainians in keeping their border in check. From what he had heard, everything seemed stable for the moment. That was good, because they were going to need some free time to pull this off.

Zeke was eventually found in the cafeteria, inhaling his breakfast. Pandoria sat next to him with her own, though ate at a more steady pace. Rex didn’t know why he didn’t check there first. Zeke was a real glutton if given the opportunity.

“Hi, Zeke,” Rex greeted as he slid into the seat opposite him.

“Mornin’, chum,” Zeke responded with a mouth full of pancakes. Rex assumed he would pause to talk to him, but he just kept eating. Better work with it, then. He looked down. Zeke had drenched his plate in syrup. Emphasis on drenched.

“I was hoping to go over an idea I’ve got with you.” Grabbing the half-empty syrup bottle, Zeke turned it upside down and nodded for him to continue. Rex tugged at his collar. “Well, uh, I kind of need you to stop eating to hear me out.”

“Hey, pipsqueak, a man needs his energy. Can’t you wait?”

Pandoria slid him a pancake while Rex was forced to stay put. He gratefully took it, realising he hadn’t eaten yet. He’d spent so long last night researching and then when he’d woken up, he’d come straight here. Maybe he should get some more food afterwards. Regardless, he remained seated. When Zeke finally finished, he sighed in content.

“Alright, what did you want to talk about?”

Grinning, Rex prepared himself. “OK, listen up, because last night I found out something incredible.”

“Incredible?” Pandoria repeated.

“Yup. I found out that Mòrag’s mother is still alive.” The duo were silent. Rex blinked, expectantly awaiting a response. “...Well? That’s good, isn’t it?”

“I mean, I suppose. Why does it matter?” Zeke said.

“What do you mean, what does it matter? We’ll find her and bring her back here! Mòrag hasn’t seen her mother since she was two, according to Brighid. That’ll be a nice way to cheer her up, what with everything that’s going on right now… I figured I owed her something, for helping me out two years ago.”

Zeke and Pandoria considered it. Rex had to admit, it was not the reaction he had been expecting. Zeke had lost his mother at a young age too, so shouldn’t he be glad to hear such great news? Then again, he had never actually said what his relationship with his late mother had been like. Everyone in the group tended to keep their personal lives to themselves, which was fine, though sometimes knowing came in handy. He waited for a long time before either spoke again.

“I see your point, chum, but how do you know that will cheer her up? What if they don’t like each other?” Zeke mumbled as he scraped his fork around on his plate. Pandoria cringed at the noise.

“‘Course they will!”

It had been so long, they would _have_ to be overjoyed to see each other again. While Brighid didn’t know much about this Lady Sverre, Rex had high hopes. Surely all mothers cared about their children, even if they had been separated for such a lengthy amount of time. If Zeke didn’t agree, then he’d find her by himself. He was determined.

After a few moments, Zeke sighed. “I mean, I guess it can’t really hurt. You know where this lady lives?”

Rex beamed widely until he then realised… no, he didn’t. He knew nothing about her. “Uh, well, you see, Zeke, that’s where I was hoping you would lend a hand.”

The older driver smacked a hand to his forehead. “Great.”

* * *

 

“So, Rex, have you told Mythra and Pyra about this?”

The two boys were alone in one of the parlours. While Pandoria had offered to assist, Rex asked if she could keep it a secret from everyone else. It wouldn’t just be a surprise for Mòrag, it would be a surprise for all. Therefore, only Zeke remained. He was leaning against the doorway, checking his nails.

“Not yet. For now, it’s just us.” Rex rummaged through some old address books before he realised they would be for the deceased Ardainian titan, not Neo-Mor Ardain. Some were almost over a century old. He threw himself on a nearby sofa. “Ugh, I don’t know where to start.”

Before they had come here, Rex had told Zeke what little he knew about Mòrag’s mother. Her first name was Alice, and she was a member of the noble family of Sverre. Apparently the lengthy lineage had had many marriages with the Ardanach and Ladair lines throughout the years. Rex had even found part of a family tree in the library. He could not find much else besides the fact that Lady Sverre was apparently a writer. However, he’d managed to grab one of her books from the library, too. Some cheesy romance novel. He’d left it on the side to skim through later.

“The palace has gotta have a list of where everyone lives, right? ‘Cause of the war and everything? Why don’t we ask?”

“Great idea!” Rex yelled as he got to his feet.

They quickly found themselves near the palace’s entrance, in the sorting office. A large room that acted much like a secretarial part of the building for the ambassadors to work and collect official letters. There were only a few workers present, and Rex slid up to a woman that was stationed at a desk.

She peered at them. “Can I help you, Driver of the Aegis?”

“Yeah, Zeke and I need access to the address of a woman named… Alice Sverre.” He awkwardly read the name from the writing he had scribbled on his hand. It had smudged in the late summer heat.

The secretary appeared confused. “Unfortunately, I cannot disclose anyone’s address to the public.”

It was then Zeke’s turn to try and persuade her. “We’re personal companions of the Special Inquisitor. We need this address for her sake, you see.”

“Oh, well, in that case…”

Score. Some files and documents later, they had Lady Sverre’s new address just like that. Damn, being friends with Mòrag sure had its benefits. The amount of wickedness they could get up to with that privilege… except they, thankfully, were not that stupid.

“Who’s address do you need that involves Mòrag?”

The two spun around to see Nia standing there, arms crossed in suspicion.

“How long have you been there, fuzzy ears?” Zeke asked.

“Long enough,” she retorted back.

“Um, it’s a surprise! For Mòrag!” Rex stated. He placed his hands on his hips.

“A surprise? What surprise? What are you up to?”

Nia’s eyes narrowed. Rex quickly grabbed Zeke and pulled him towards the palace entrance. “Nothing! Guys only secret, see you!” The Gormotti just threw up her hands as the two darted out of the building.

To their luck, Lady Sverre lived right in the centre of Alba Cavanich. Not too far away from Hardhaigh, many noble estates had been built for the number of wealthy families that could afford to pay for the fast work. Honestly, the pair felt like they were intruding when they stumbled upon such a fine estate. Trees were trimmed into shape, the roads were perfectly paved and every house was pretty much a mansion. How they managed to build it all in two years was beyond them.

“Blimey, you should read this book.” Zeke grimaced as he read through Lady Sverre’s romance novel that Rex had picked up earlier. “Bloody horrible!”

“Why’s that?”

“Just… it’s so _sappy_ ! Never in a million years would I have guessed someone related to Mòrag wrote this.” The prince smirked menacingly. “I can’t _wait_ to show her.”

Rex laughed loudly. “Go on, read me a passage.”

“‘ _Adrien gazed at me from across the room,_ _our eyes meeting as one. The next moment, our bodies were united in passionate—_ ’”

“ _Okay_ , I’ve heard enough!” Rex blurted out. Zeke sneered at him as he snapped the book shut. The teen shuddered. Architect, maybe it was better to leave that book in the library, never to be seen again.

They ended up at the correct street as stated in the address. It had turned off the main road onto the left, and the house was numbered 35. A bit of a walk, but it was nothing compared to trudging across the backs of enormous titans back in the day. The only problem was, all the houses looked the same. Despite being mansions, or at least very large estates, they weren’t that different on the outside. The pair glanced at them.

The first house started at one. After the reached houses in the 20s, it became increasingly more difficult to keep track. They kept skipping numbers or having to go back and double check.

“How hard can it be to find one house?” Zeke griped as they ended up at number 30 for the second time.

Suddenly, Rex, half way down the road, shouted out, “Found it!”

About time. Number 35 was just as impressive as all the rest, with vines creeping down the double doorway and stained glass etched in to the tops of the windows. It was almost as nice as some of the palace. Hesitantly, Rex reached out a hand and rapped his knuckles on the door.

At first, nobody answered. Rex was about to knock again before the door opened a crack.

“Yes?” It was a maid, not a noblewoman. Despite how she didn’t open the door all of the way, the two boys could see she was a Gormotti. Rex flushed at the black and white dress that rode up her thighs.

“Um, w-we’re looking for a Lady Sverre?” he stammered.

The maid didn’t budge. “What do you require with her?”

 _Oops_. They hadn’t exactly considered that part. They only now realised how creepy it must appear to the poor maid for two random men to show up asking for her mistress, stating no reason. They couldn’t say the true intention of the visit. Even though Rex was optimistic, there was no telling how someone would react to learning about the child they hadn’t seen for over 20 years. They were going to have to approach this delicately. Sadly, that was neither of their fortes.

“We’d love to ask her about her writing, if she happens to be available,” Zeke said in his most charming voice. He leant his arm against the doorway suggestively. The maid’s cheeks tinted red as he flashed her a princely smile.

“...I will ask for her.”

They were left alone on the doorstep. Rex peered up at Zeke incredulously. “The hell was that?”

“The hell was _what_?” Zeke scoffed, turning his head. “Just using some charm. Always works. The ladies can’t get enough of the Zekenator.”

And he’d called the novel cheesy. Rex rolled his eyes and proceeded to wait. They ended up standing there for quite some time. Maybe even five minutes. Did the maid get lost? Was Lady Sverre not up to conversation? That better not be the reason, because they’d came a long way. It would be a real pain in the neck if they’d had to turn back now.

Eventually, the door opened. Zeke went to turn on the charm again, expecting the maid, but they were met with another woman.

While she had aged considerably, it was definitely the same woman from the portrait Rex had seen last night. She had exactly the same eyes as Mòrag. It was unmistakable. However, her style of attire was… the complete opposite. The woman wore a long, blue dress decorated with ribbons. A precious stone the colour of Brighid’s flames adorned her neck, smaller gems wreathed around it. There was a ring on every finger, a jewel everywhere in sight. Even her shoes were encrusted with what seemed like diamonds. What she was wearing was probably worth more than the house she lived in.

“Fans, I take it?” she said haughtily. “What business do you have coming to my estate like this?”

Zeke was too stunned to speak, probably baffled as to how this woman gave birth to _Mòrag_ , of all people. Rex took the opportunity to have a little fun.

“Sorry, ma’am, it’s just that Zeke here is a massive fan of your work! He was dying to have an interview with you!”

The prince whipped his head around to glare daggers at him. Rex smiled sweetly. Then, Lady Sverre moved her gaze over to Zeke. Looking him up and down, particularly paying attention to his arms, her gaze softened.

“Oh, is that so?” she murmured. “Well, young man, who am I to turn down an admirer?”

Rex had to do everything in his power not to laugh. Zeke’s face turned scarlet in embarrassment as Lady Sverre edged closer, gently placing a hand on his bare chest. He let out the tiniest squeak, probably regretting for once in his life that he was not wearing a shirt beneath his coat.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

Lady Sverre stepped aside to make room. “Do come in, gentlemen.”

* * *

 

Now that the public preparations were out of the way, the next nuisance they had to deal with was the Reubaltaich.

Mòrag scowled as she read through the reports. Her scouts had yet to come back with any news, good or bad. Since the battle in Neo-Gormott, the Reubaltaich had simply disappeared. Steaphan’s ice had melted within a few days and thus any footprints could not be tracked. Worst of all, none of their leaders could be located.

She’d gotten so close to disposing of them, too. Mòrag had Raghnall at her mercy before Graull had interrupted, and now he was gone. The remaining survivors must have saved him. Angrily, Mòrag threw the papers down and whipped around. Finding them was one of her top priorities now that the new war with Uraya was currently taking its first steps. Wars were always quiet at the start, and she appreciated that. Except, where would they even begin to search?

They could not afford to waste their soldiers on patrols that were likely to find nothing. She couldn’t go after them herself in case she was needed here, and the same went for her companions. They were strong, but the Reubaltaich were far too dangerous to deal with alone. Why couldn’t she just be cursed with one big problem instead of two?

“Hey, Mòrag.”

She saw Nia hanging around outside of the strategy room. “Hello.”

The Gormotti blade wandered in, fingers brushing against the heap of papers strewn everywhere. She peered at the mess and wrinkled her nose. Always one for cleanliness, was Nia. So was Mòrag, but it would probably take her all week to tidy all of it up.

“How’s everything going? With all your Ardainian politics, and such.”

“Ah, I’m trying to plan out what we’re doing next. The Reubaltaich have vanished, and I cannot waste soldiers looking for them. It’s… quite the predicament.”

“Sounds it. I mean, I can always go for you.”

Mòrag smiled gently. “I appreciate the offer yet I cannot risk you being harmed.”

“Hey, c’mon, you’re underestimating me here,” Nia scoffed with a wave of her hand. “Oh, actually, I came in here to tell you something.”

The Special Inquisitor raised a brow. “Oh?”

“I saw Rex and Zeke skulking around earlier. Pretty suspicious, if you ask me. They were looking for an address, apparently relating to you. Is this true?”

Now that was odd. What address could be related to her, when her and her brother lived in Hardhaigh? Had she planned something with them? A forgotten arrangement or conversation she had made when she was still drowsy from her medication? She frowned as she racked her mind. No, she could not recall.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “What else did they say?”

Nia shrugged. “They ran off before I could ask. Cheeky sods.”

Mòrag just hoped they weren’t up to no good. She couldn’t handle anymore nonsense than she already had on her plate. Perhaps she would ask them the next time she saw them what they were doing, considering she was apparently involved.

No matter. She couldn’t end up worrying about every little thing her friends were up to. As much as she’d love to relax and switch off her brain for a few days, she’d had her rest. It was best to simply let them get on with things.

* * *

 

Lady Sverre’s house was like nothing they’d ever seen. They were lead by the maid from earlier into the living room, which was filled to the brim with solid gold ornaments, jade vases and crystal glasses. One wrong move could send the whole place toppling. Rex and Zeke sat down _very_ carefully on the teal sofas. As the maid was sent out to fetch them tea, Zeke gripped Rex’s shoulder.

“Rex, keep in mind that I _will_ murder you later.”

Rex just smirked.

“You two must introduce yourselves to me,” Lady Sverre announced as she drifted into the room. She walked as if she was a ballerina on air, feet light and never allowing her arms to drop. She sat in the chair to the left of Zeke, never letting her gaze falter from him. He shifted in place uncomfortably.

“I’m Rex, Driver of the Aegis, and this is Zeke, Prince of Tantal.”

“Or the Zekenator,” the prince added quietly.

The noblewoman held her hands to her face in shock. “Oh, such important guests! I have heard many things about you, since you saved the world! I’m honoured that you like my writing!”

The maid returned to place their tea down on the table. Even the cups had gold lining the rims. The pair watched as Lady Sverre added five teaspoons of sugar to hers, Rex awkwardly adding two and Zeke only one. The latter was far too restless to drink, but he held the cup to his lips anyway as an excuse not to speak.

It was convenient that she knew of them. They probably should have introduced themselves at the doorway for easier access, seeing as how they were pretty much celebrities now. Lady Sverre kept a steady smile, mostly at Zeke, though she remained sophisticated.

“Do tell me, _Zeke_ ,” she purred. “Which book of mine is your favourite?”

As Zeke spluttered on his tea, Rex took the chance to keep poking fun at him. “He’s got it with him.”

The prince gave him a look that meant he was dead meat later, but it was absolutely worth it. Rex beamed as Zeke pulled the romance novel from out of his coat pocket. The cover was embarrassing to look at. Roses thrown on silk sheets, of all things. Lady Sverre’s eyes lidded when she caught sight of it.

“Your Highness, I had no idea you were that kind of a man.”

Recalling the sentence he had read aloud earlier, Zeke smiled weakly as he set the book on the table. Before he could say anything, Lady Sverre began to get wrapped up in her own words.

For at least half an hour, she rambled about her book series that the romance novel had come from. All the pair could do was nod or bullshit answers when she asked questions, too afraid to let up the fact they weren’t really fans. They were supposed to ask her about Mòrag any time now. The maid had refilled their cups twice since their arrival. They hadn’t meant for it to drag on like this. Sadly, it seemed Lady Sverre loved the sound of her own voice.

“My favourite part was definitely writing about the affair of—”

“Actually, Lady Sverre, we were hoping to ask you some unrelated questions,” Zeke finally interrupted. He was beet red after listening to the intimate details she openly spoke about in her novels, especially when she ‘accidentally’ brushed her leg against his or spent too long obviously staring at his arms.

“Really?” she said in a sultry tone.

It was then Rex who decided to speak next. “Since we’ve, y’know, saved the world and all that, we’re actually close friends with the Special Inquisitor.”

Lady Sverre’s expression remained blank. “...Yes?”

“Um, we know she’s your daughter.”

Her eyes suddenly hardened. “And what of it?”

“We were kind of hoping that you’d like to visit her?” Rex asked hopefully.

Sighing and putting her cup down, Lady Sverre stood up rather quickly. She turned to face the large arched window opposite them. Oh dear. The pair glanced at each other. She didn’t seem happy with their suggestion, that was for sure.

“Why would I do that? She wouldn’t remember me.”

“That’s not the point,” Rex argued. “It’s just, Mòrag’s been so stressed recently, with the war and the rebel soldiers, I thought it would be a good idea if she could see you again, Lady Sverre. She’s come so far, maybe it would be a good thing for you—”

The noblewoman ignored him and tutted, waving her hand. “ _Mòrag_ , such a hideous name. I don’t know _what_ her father was thinking.”

Was that all she had to say? Rex felt a sudden anger within him. They had came here to invite her back to the palace to visit the daughter she had not seen for years, and that was what she cared about? It seemed like her arrogant persona was not merely an act, then.

He knew it was rude, but he couldn’t help asking. “Why… why did you leave?”

“You dare ask such a personal question?” Lady Sverre hissed, then regained her composure. “We divorced. It’s as simple as that, child. Since Mòrag’s father was a prince, I left her in his care. What else about my private life do you wish to know about, hm?”

“I didn’t mean to offend,” said Rex, “though I’m sure Mòrag thinks about you a lot.”

Lady Sverre folded her arms. “It’s far too late for such sentimental nonsense.”

“But she’s the Special Inquisitor! Aren’t you proud of her for that?”

“A Special Inquisitor is no job for a lady!”

Zeke stood up, pressing himself in between them. “Alright, cool it, Rex. I think we’ve bothered her enough.” He then looked at her calmly. “Lady Sverre, sorry to bother you like this. Rex and I lost our mothers very young, so he thought it was a good idea to cheer Mòrag up with your presence. We’ll leave now. Thanks for the tea.”

While Lady Sverre lost her irritable grimace, he hauled Rex up to leave. The teen would have protested but he knew he’d overstepped his boundaries. He held back a glare, though his demeanor was frosty. They were about to reach for the front door before they were stopped.

“Wait,” Lady Sverre called out. The two came to a halt. “Does she… really want to see me?”

“Well, truthfully, she doesn’t know we’re here. It’s meant to be a surprise.”

“She’s been really down!” Rex commented. “She hasn’t been herself since all this war stuff happened. Please, Lady Sverre. It would mean the world to us if you visited for just one day.”

She thought about it. They watched carefully as she bit her lip and glanced to the side, hands on her hips. When one looked, the resemblance was strong. Lady Sverre tensed her jaw when she was upset or in thought, just as Mòrag would have done. Personality wise, they were nothing alike, but when it came to appearances, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. After several long moments, she finally gave them an answer.

“Fine. Expect me at Hardhaigh tomorrow afternoon.”

The younger driver grinned from ear to ear. He would have hugged her if Zeke hadn’t still been holding on to his arm. He didn’t want to imagine how the woman would react if her perfect silk dress was creased, seeing as she went to all the trouble to dress herself so nicely.

“See you tomorrow, then,” Zeke said as he opened the door.

“Oh, wait!” Lady Sverre hurried back to the living room, and returned with the cursed book in her grasp. She took Zeke’s hand and pressed the book into it. “You forgot this.”

Zeke only nodded as he raced out of the door. When Rex said his goodbyes and the door was closed behind them, Zeke’s face was warped with fury. “You little shit.”

Rex slapped a hand to his mouth as he snorted from laughter. “It was a joke! C’mon, Zeke, you had to admit that was funny.”

“Ha-ha,” Zeke deadpanned.

As he held his fist up (probably) jokingly, Rex raised his arms. “Whoa, now. You don’t want blood on your hands over a book. Now, hurry up, loverboy, we need to get back before people get worried.”

“Don’t you worry, they’ll only notice that you’ve mysteriously gone missing.”

The prince lowered his fist and grabbed his sword. Pandoria wasn’t with him, meaning he couldn’t use his Arts, but there was nothing from stopping him from using it as a weapon. The colour drained from Rex’s face.

“...Zeke?”

“I’ll give you a five second headstart.”

Five seconds later, Rex screamed as Zeke waved his sword wildly at him.


	14. Daughter of Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mòrag is introduced to her mother. Meanwhile, the Reubaltaich are given an unexpected offer.

****While Mòrag’s morning had been uneventful, the beginning of the afternoon was frantic.

They still had no leads on the Reubaltaich. Some patrols had been sent out, though it seemed like the rebels had scattered and hidden themselves outside of Elysium’s borders. There was plenty more land ahead if one crossed the ocean, though for now they had only taken a small chunk of it to start off with. Mòrag couldn’t afford to keep sending more patrols out for nothing so she had turned her attention to Uraya.

King Graull was already preparing his forces. He had been blunt in his exchangings, always getting to the point and skipping formalities. That was how he was regardless, but it just made everyone more worked up.

Rex had burst into the strategy room straight after lunch. Mòrag glanced up, surprised to see him so jittery. “Is something the matter?”

“There’s a surprise waiting for you.”

Quirking a brow, Mòrag looked at him. “A surprise?”

“That’s all I can say, meet me at the palace entrance when you’re ready.” Rex was rocking on his heels. Before Mòrag could give him an answer, he sped away. The kid was fast when he wanted to be. Usually, Mòrag wouldn’t abandon her work without a good reason, but she wasn’t exactly getting anywhere. With no leads on the Reubaltaich, and Uraya being untouchable for the moment, she was a sitting duck. Best amuse herself with whatever Rex had planned. Sighing, she got to her feet.

Not only was Rex waiting for her, Zeke was next to him. He appeared uncomfortable.

“Rex, Zeke, what’s going on?” she said as she addressed them.

“Look, I can’t say anything. It’s a... secret.”

She looked back at Rex. He was still grinning widely. Taking her by the arm, he began to lead her around the paths heading for the palace gardens. What use did he have to go there? While Mòrag quite liked the gardens, there was nothing there of interest.

“I’d really prefer it if you’d explain to me—” She was cut off again by Rex’s eagerness.

“No, it’s a surprise. Look, just wait here.”

They arrived at a shaded gazebo. The ferns and rose bushes on the side were far too overgrown, snaking their way under the table and chairs. She’d have to tell someone to cut the damn things. Rex was so excited he almost shoved her into the seats. What on earth was so important that he’d drag her all the way out here in the middle of the working day? She gave him a sharp look.

“Rex, I’m _serious_.”

The young driver’s grin faded into a pout. “So am I! Mòrag, you’ll like this, I promise.”

He left her alone. Mòrag crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. How childish. If he didn’t return within five minutes, she was going back inside. She was sure he had nothing to really surprise her with. Unless it was news of Graull stepping down from the throne, she wasn’t interested.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Zeke sloping around. He never made an effort to join her, only trying to casually hide himself in the bushes or behind trees. Why was everyone acting so suspicious?

“Zeke, I know that both you and Rex working together makes trouble.”

The prince chuckled in discomfort. “I’m just his assistant for this.”

He said nothing else. Mòrag waited for the five minutes, yet no Rex ever came, and Zeke continued to dart around like a criminal. She slammed her hands down on the table and stood up. She didn’t have the time nor patience for this.

“Mòrag!” cried a shrill voice.

She turned, about to scold Rex for wasting her time, but froze when a stranger threw herself at her.

She was being hugged by another woman, a woman she had never met before in her life. Mòrag stumbled back in shock as she was embraced tightly. Too stunned to respond, the Special Inquisitor merely stood and waited until she was released. Who the hell had the audacity to touch her?

The woman pinched her cheek. Actually _pinched_ her. “Oh, look at how big you are now!”

“I think you have the wrong person, _ma’am_ ,” Mòrag said sternly as she slapped the hand away from her face. Taking the moment to look the odd woman up and down, she could only blink. She was wrapped in a very expensive indigo dress, almost weighed down by the sheer amount of gemstones weaved into it. Precious amethysts lined her neck and wrists. She was smiling, yet it seemed forced. Mòrag couldn’t exactly put her finger on it, but the expression the woman was wearing was false and rehearsed.

She then tittered while waving her hand. “Oh, no, I’m sure it’s you. Rex did invite me here, after all.” Mòrag glanced over to Rex, who was hiding not too far away. She frowned at him. Before she could say anything else, however, the woman then composed her frivolous attitude and placed a hand on Mòrag’s right shoulder. “It’s your dear mother, silly.”

 _Mother_?

“Surprise!” said Rex awkwardly.

* * *

 

It had taken them a long time to get Mòrag to sit back down under the gazebo once she was hit with the sudden news.

It was understandable. Zeke had come out of hiding and was watching the scene unfold. They had made the two ladies sit opposite each other, and while Lady Sverre was happy to kick back and relax, Mòrag just couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“So, um, this is Lady Alice Sverre,” Rex introduced. “We asked if she would meet you.”

Mòrag glared in his direction. “And why would you do that?”

Lady Sverre interrupted rudely before Rex could answer. “Where are the drinks, boy? This is a celebration. Fetch us something!”

The young driver hurriedly bowed and raced back inside the palace. Mòrag then turned to Zeke, though he had just yelled something about it being Rex’s idea before making a run for it. Great. That left her alone with this… aristocrat.

Unless she was given some sort of proof, Mòrag refused to believe that this woman was her mother. They’d simply brought her in and expected her to accept it just like that? Mòrag was a person who believed in cold hard _facts_ . Yes, the woman _looked_ like her, quite a lot, in fact. Yet the way she sat there, preening herself and hardly giving her a second glance, looking as if she was about to collapse under the weight of her jewellery… no, she _couldn’t_ be her mother. That person had left a long time ago. Mòrag couldn’t even remember her.

“Well, like I said earlier,” Lady Sverre started as she finally stopped fiddling with her earrings, “you’ve grown quite a lot. Even taller than I!”

Mòrag said nothing. Lady Sverre then cleared her throat and narrowed her eyes, sliding her gaze over Mòrag’s face in particular.

“Couldn’t you have worn a little bit of makeup for this event?”

“The Special Inquisitor does not wear _makeup._ ”

The woman claiming to be her mother was already criticizing her? Mòrag was a soldier, not an actress. She didn’t have time to waste on stupid things like that. The notion that she _would_ deeply offended her. However, Lady Sverre only tutted, taking a drink from the tray Rex had scrambled to bring out for them. He set one down for Mòrag but she didn’t touch it.

“Leave us,” Lady Sverre dismissed. Mòrag pursed her lips. While Rex had not been promoted to a higher social rank as of yet, he was still the saviour of the entire world, and this woman dared to order him around? Still, Rex only smiled. He was happy enough with the situation.

“Tell me how it goes!” he whispered only to Mòrag.

Once he was gone, Lady Sverre held her glass elegantly and rolled her head towards the sun. She allowed her eyes, caked heavily in eyeshadow, to drift shut. “Finally, he’s gone. Children and their excitement are too much for me.”

“Look, Lady Sverre—”

“There’s no need to be so formal, Mòrag. I know we haven’t seen each other for a while, but you _can_ call me mother.”

Mòrag huffed in annoyance. “You expect me to believe that? You are only on palace grounds because the Driver of the Aegis invited you. Noblewoman or not, you are wasting my time. I am the Special Inquisitor, and we are amidst a _war_.”

As she stood up to leave, Lady Sverre caught her, gasping dramatically. “Of course I’m your mother! I still have the ruined figure to prove it.”

By the Architect, this woman was _intolerable_.

In the bushes nearby, Rex sat next to Zeke, both crouched down as low as they could go. They cringed as they witnessed the scene in front of them. Neither Mòrag or her mother had sat down for more than a minute before they were on their feet and arguing.

Rex felt his face fall. He had really expected them to be happy to see each other. While Lady Sverre initially _seemed_ like she was, she had not been that kind to her daughter. The makeup comment was unnecessary. Everyone knew Mòrag was not one to be conflicted over her beauty, putting her job first and foremost. She couldn’t care less how she appeared as long as it was work-efficient. Perhaps he should have seen that one coming when he saw the amount of powder Lady Sverre wore. She was exactly the type of person to say something.

Zeke merely sighed and leaned his chin on his hand. “Told you, chum. I knew this wasn’t going to go well.”

“Maybe just give them another few minutes?” Rex said, but his hope died once their arguing increased. They flinched at the sound of raised voices.

“My marital status is none of your concern!” Mòrag snapped.

“Well, you’d better get a move on, then! You’re, what, 27?”

“ _26_.”

“Don’t be sarcastic with me, young lady.”

Oh dear. Perhaps it was best if one of them stepped forwards. Rex was about to stand up anyway, his knees cramping to hell and back, though Zeke beat him to it. Mòrag’s temper did not waver. Lady Sverre’s scowl was replaced with a smile once she caught sight of him.

“Your Highness!” she said happily.

He smiled weakly, trying not to wince under Mòrag’s death glare. She did not look amused.

“Tell me the meaning of this, Zeke. _Now_.”

“Er, this was meant to go another way—”

“I did it!” Rex called out. He fell out of the bushes, twigs stuck in his hair. He brushed them out as he tried to stand up. “Don’t blame Zeke, I asked him to help. Mòrag, I noticed you were so stressed with the war, and I wanted to do something to help. I saw the portrait of your parents. I got this stupid idea, and Lady Sverre was nice enough to come here… Look, I’m sorry I didn’t say straight away. It went better in my head.”

In all honesty, Mòrag was stunned. She had long lost her angry expression after listening to his explanation. In most other scenarios, she would have scolded him, or warned him not to do such reckless things without her knowledge, but he seemed genuinely upset. Rex had that signature pout. As if he were a kicked puppy, Mòrag felt her heart melt.

She turned back to Lady Sverre. “Is this true?”

It looked as if she wanted to scoff, though Lady Sverre held back the rude gesture. Instead, she nodded. “Yes. He turned up at my abode uninvited, but he _did_ seem desperate, the poor thing.”

Well, that explained what Nia had said to her yesterday. They were looking for her mother’s address. Bloody hell, they sure had gone through a lot to get that, then. Mòrag knew little of her, but she was aware that she had been out of contact since she had divorced her father. Finding her back on the titan would have been hard enough.

So what did she think? Mòrag was silent for a long time, looking between the dejected drivers and the noblewoman next to her. What they did was pretty stupid considering they had no idea of their relationship, or lack thereof, yet she couldn’t help feeling somewhat grateful. Rex had done a big thing for her. He didn’t even know about her… mental condition.

“And… you’re actually my mother?”

Lady Sverre twirled around on the spot. “Indeed I am.”

“Well, then… I suppose you’d better come inside.”

* * *

 

They had decided to go back into the palace at the right time. It had been a nice day up until now, however the clouds had blocked out the sun, bringing along an early autumn chill in their wake. Time had really flown by.

Comfortable on Hardhaigh’s expensive furniture, Lady Sverre graciously took her tea from a servant. Rex and Zeke sat opposite them, though were keeping out of the conversation. It wasn’t long until Lady Sverre started to ramble about her life. Mòrag politely listened, though quickly became bored.

They were nothing alike. That was obvious from the start, but it appeared her mother preferred a life of luxury and fame. Mòrag, despite her status, liked simplicity. The difference in their clothing was a constant reminder, Mòrag in her practical uniform and her mother dressed in expensive silks. Then again, she did learn some things about her. Lady Sverre was an author who had published quite a few books. When she mentioned that, Mòrag saw both Zeke and Rex splutter on their tea, hiding their laughter with a cough.

“I do have to wonder,” Lady Sverre said once she was finished rambling, “how _did_ you end up as Special Inquisitor? It’s not exactly the kind of job a princess would choose.”

Here she was again with the sexism. Mòrag had to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

“I was and still am a formidable driver, so they thought a position in the military would suit me best.”

“But, there’s all that violence…”

“That’s part of the job, _mother_.”

The word felt weird as it slipped from her tongue. In her head, Mòrag said it a few more times. _Mother. Motheeeer_.

No, she couldn’t get used to it.

Lady Sverre turned to Rex, who had been quiet for the entirety of her blathering. He jumped to attention once her eyes fell onto him. “You said my daughter travelled with you, Rex?”

He grinned in excitement. “Oh, yeah! Mòrag was awesome. You should have seen her when we were fighting Malos, or the drivers from Torna, or the Artifice—”

Gasping loudly, Lady Sverre held a hand to her face. “Goodness! You did all of that? Then haven’t you done enough adventuring for one lifetime?”

Perhaps that was true, but Mòrag still had duties she had to fulfill. What she accomplished back in Alrest would mean nothing if she failed to stop this war. Elysium was a land of peace, and she would try to preserve it, even if it meant dying. She’d already sworn herself to that a long time ago. However, before she could answer with those reasons, there was a knock on the half open parlour door.

Brighid was lingering outside. She had reports in her hand, and was just finishing glossing over them as she turned her head up. “Lady Mòrag, if I could have—”

She stopped once she caught sight of Lady Sverre. Looking her up and down, the gears turning in her mind almost visible, she struggled to find words.

“Oh, hello, Brighid,” Mòrag decided to input. “This is… Lady Sverre.”

“I’m sorry, did you say _Lady Sverre_?” She looked at Rex and Zeke. While Zeke was rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, Rex beamed at her. She didn’t need an answer to realise what he’d done. That explained why he’d shot off suddenly that night, so eager to do something despite being silent and reserved moments earlier. Brighid then turned to look at her driver. Mòrag did not seem as uncomfortable as she imagined she would. Perhaps they had been here a while? Still, she bowed gracefully. “A pleasure. I am Brighid, Lady Mòrag’s blade.”

It seemed Lady Sverre was a tad more impressed with Brighid’s appearance. She nodded approvingly at Brighid’s delicately applied eyeliner. Mòrag scoffed. She was going to need a long chat with her afterwards, that was for certain.

They spent another hour talking. It was forced at that point, considering every time Mòrag spoke her mother would find some way to criticise her or question her methods. Understandably, the Special Inquisitor became quite tired at the end of it.

“One of you boys escort me home,” Lady Sverre asked as she stood up.

“You can stay here, if you like,” Mòrag offered. She’d really had enough of her, but she asked more out of appreciation for Rex. She noticed he appeared happier when she was more receptive.

Her mother laughed. “That is kind of you, dear. Maybe for one night.”

They did not embrace this time. Mòrag was not one for physical affection, still startled by how she’d been jumped on earlier, so she nodded. Lady Sverre did not try and force one.

She left quietly with a servant.

“I think that went well,” Rex said to Zeke once Mòrag disappeared out of the room.

“That was bloody awkward,” the prince murmured.

“Only because she was looking at you the whole time,” Rex teased. He may have narrowly escaped Zeke’s wrath from yesterday, but that didn’t mean he was finished with him. The flushed look on his face was worth it.

Outside, Mòrag released a sigh she had been holding in all afternoon.

She never would have predicted such a thing would happen when she got up today. Rex had really gone out of his way to find her mother, someone she had not seen or heard from in over two decades. Not that she was particularly fond of the woman, yet she appreciated the thought.

Brighid was standing behind her. Mòrag turned.

“What on earth was that about?”

“Rex had planned it for me. To cheer me up, so he said. I know, it was ridiculous.”

“I’m surprised she actually turned up,” Brighid thought out loud, “and she’s _staying_ the night. I wonder how they convinced her?”

That was something they wouldn’t know for the rest of the night. Mòrag didn’t care too much, seeing as how she was already feeling drained. It was back to the strategy room to finish any remaining paperwork and she was gone for the night.

“So, er, how was she?”

“Insufferable.”

Brighid laughed loudly. Mòrag would have laughed with her if she wasn’t so tired. Anyway, Brighid wanted to say something to announce to her, didn’t she? “You had something to tell me, Brighid?”

The blade snapped to attention. “Oh, yes. Good news. We have located some equipment belonging to the Reubaltaich to the north of the border. We believe they are fleeing towards Neo-Tantal.”

Finally, a lead she could work with! Mòrag’s mind immediately kicked into action, forgetting about her mother for the moment. She could think of that when she had the time.

“Excellent. I’ll have a small group sent out to investigate.”

* * *

 

Struggling to drag himself over the rocky cliffs, Steaphan threw himself down once he got onto flat ground. They still had a ways to go, though they had climbed quite high up.

Weeks had gone by since their crushing defeat in Neo-Gormott, and they had barely recovered. They were down to only a quarter of what they once were. Two of their captains dead, only Steaphan and Raghnall remained. The latter had been fatally wounded, though somehow managed to survive with the help of their healing blades. Only just. Steaphan didn’t know how he’d escaped from the onslaught of Urayans, only knowing that he had.

What were they going to do now? The ex-captain peered down at their group. Some were helping Raghnall up, others were dragging what little equipment they had left. They had probably dropped some on the way, so they had to hope it wasn’t noticed.

“Where are we even headed, captain?” a bandit groaned. He collapsed once he scaled another boulder.

“Anywhere, fool,” Steaphan spat. “Just as long as it’s nowhere near Neo-Mor Ardain or Neo-Uraya. We started the war we wanted, but I didn’t expect _this_.”

They couldn’t really call themselves the Reubaltaich anymore. They were pathetic. Half of them were recovering from injuries, and most of their best fighters had been killed. With Raghnall in the condition that he was, Steaphan was their strongest member. He knew he didn’t compare to either Ladair or Graull. If he encountered either of them again, he was sure to be cut down.

Therefore, Neo-Tantal looked like their best hope of survival. Their plan at subduing Uraya had failed, and they could not return to Neo-Mor Ardain. The high mountains and cold lakes of the north did not sit well with them but it was all they had to look forward to.

Growling, the captain bit back his thoughts and continued to clamber up the cliff. They weren’t going to get anywhere if they kept stopping to brood about their situation.

Once he got to the top, Steaphan came to a halt and was forced to wait for the rest. Raghnall was not too far behind him, wincing at his still healing back. He sank to his knees besides the ex-captain.

“What hope do we have?” the commander grunted. He slammed his fist against the ground in frustration. “We have nothing left. No soldiers, no supplies, nothing. We’re done for.”

It wasn’t like him to be so pessimistic. Not that Raghnall was an optimist, but he always had a plan for every possible outcome. It seemed like he hadn’t predicted such a failure. Steaphan knew he had backup plans, yet he had overlooked so much. Uraya suddenly ambushing them had not been one of the scenarios he had prepared for.

Just as Steaphan was about to reply, the sound of footsteps stopped him.

“I can help you with that.”

They froze. Steaphan, heart in his throat, did not want to turn his head. He had never met the man in person, though he damn well know exactly who he was.

King Graull stood before them, flanked by five Urayan troops on either side. How he had gotten here without anyone noticing was a mystery, but the fact _was_ he was right _there_. Right in front of them. The king was wearing a knowing smirk, his enormous sword slung over his shoulders like a trophy. In that moment, Steaphan mentally uttered the only prayer he had ever made in his entire life.

Raghnall, on the other hand, did not show any fear. He stared right back up at the king adamantly.

“You have suffered many losses, haven’t you?” Graull said condescendingly. “A pity. Neo-Tantal is almost within your reach, yet here I am. Whatever are you to do, Reubaltaich?”

“What do you want?” Raghnall hissed through his teeth. Steaphan glanced at him as if he had grown another head. They were going to die, but if he antagonised Graull, then their death would not be quick.

Instead, Graull chuckled. “Is that how you talk to your saviour?”

 _Saviour_?

Since Graull was being oddly kind, Steaphan found the nerve to speak. “What do you mean?”

The Urayan king snorted as he stabbed his sword into the ground. Some of his troops found amusement at the Reubaltaich’s terrified faces.

“I am aware we’re enemies. You killed _so_ many of my soldiers, after all. Naturally, I would do away with you. I could crush your tiny Ardainian necks right now.” They winced as his threatening tone as he continued. “Then, I thought, you want to conquer Mor Ardain, don’t you? I don’t particularly care why, but as the saying goes, the enemy of my enemy is a _friend_ of mine.”

“What are you proposing? That we join you? After all you’ve done?” Raghnall’s words were sharp like the edge of a knife. Yet, Graull did not falter under them.

“I think it is something to consider.”

“And what if you end up killing us when we do?” Steaphan said.

“If I wanted you dead, I’d kill you now. Think about it,” the king explained as he then knelt down to their level. “You don’t care how you achieve power, you simply _want_ it. Whether it’s power over Mor Ardain or Uraya, it matters not to you, hm? You’re just like me _._ ”

Steaphan glanced over to his commander. Raghnall turned silent. Was that true? While they had been fighting against Mor Ardain for some time, they didn’t see them the same way they saw Uraya. No, Uraya was just another country to be slaughtered, and they would use Mor Ardain as the ground to stand on as they conquered it. Was that not right?

“Make the right decision, gentlemen,” Graull muttered. “It’s either you live the rest of your life as fugitives, or you come with me and take the portion of power that I give to you. Actually, you won’t even live to be come fugitives. So there’s _that_ to think about.”

Raghnall stared at him for a long time. He chewed his lip, and then finally, he made eye contact.

“Very well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not a fan of this chapter oof but at least the action's going to pick up after this point


	15. The Forthcoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the firsr major battle of the Ardainian-Urayan war, Eurica says something that makes Mòrag ponder future possibilities.

**** The ground crunched under the soldiers’ boots as they trudged forwards. Already exhausted by the climb over the steep hills and rocky crags, they were only just about arriving in Neo-Tantal.

Not that they could cross the border, however. The only information they were given was that the Reubaltaich’s remains were seen scattered around here. That was true enough, for they had picked up many broken weapons and shards of armour. They were close. They would not fail their emperor and Special Inquisitor another time, for now that the war was official, they had no room for error.

“Captain?” a soldier piped up. The captain glanced at him. “I’m afraid the tracks end here.”

Well, that wouldn’t do. The captain frowned and joined him, only to find that he was correct. Weather had eroded most of the footprints away, and the trail of debris had ended a while back. If they had to continue any further into Neo-Tantal, then they would need to get permission. A platoon of Ardainian soldiers walking into Tantal territory without an invitation was simply a recipe for disaster. The king had changed, yet he was still very much wrapped up in the concerns of his own country. He had been quiet on the Ardainian-Urayan war, not wishing to involve himself. They supposed that was understandable.

“Should we turn back?”

“Search around this area for any more clues, but if nothing surfaces, then we will return.”

As expected, the surrounding lands were empty. Due to the amount of boulders and sheer drops, nobody had taken residence nearby. The trees were gnarled and twisted in unnatural directions, the ponds barren and dried up. Surely, the Reubaltaich could not be living here. 

Before anyone could report back, a flaming lance was hurled through the air. Nobody noticed until it was lodged in the abdomen of an unfortunate soldier.

He gurgled, blood spurting from his mouth as he collapsed to his knees. The captain whipped around and began to let out a shriek of surprise as a torrent of ether bullets rained down upon them. An ambush.

Raghnall stepped out into the scene. While still fairly injured, he wielded his chroma katana with ease and sliced down another few Ardainians before turning on the captain. “Ah, sorry to drop in like this.”

“You, Reubaltaich leader!” the captain spat. He raised his greataxe. 

“Ah-ah, we’ll be having none of that,” said Raghnall idly. He waved his hand. Behind him, an enormous group of Urayan soldiers made their way into the clearing. The Ardainians looked between him and them, utterly confused as to why on earth they were standing  _ together _ . They were enemies, were they not? While the Reubaltaich wanted Mor Ardain as much as they wanted Uraya, they never took sides. They had always been their own force.

He didn’t have much time to ponder the situation before the carnage was made. 

The Urayans were brutal. Every single Ardainian ended up speared on the end of a blade or crushed under a hammer, even the ones that had tried to flee. Raghnall watched as his new allies destroyed them all mercilessly. He only raised a hand to stop them when only one lone soldier remained. A trembling, snivelling Gormotti, which he assumed was fresh out of training. Kneeling down to his level, Raghnall grinned before him.

“Poor thing,” he chided. “It seems you are truly on your own, now.”

The Gormotti sobbed. “Please, spare me.”

“Spare you? Now that is quite the demand.” Raghnall stood up and took a few steps backwards, pretending to contemplate the decision. The Urayans behind him laughed at the Gormotti's fear. “How about this? We are in need of a messenger to return to Alba Cavanich. Think you’re up to the job?” As the Gormotti nodded between tears, Raghnall smirked. “Good boy. Run along now and tell your dear emperor that the Reubaltaich have joined forces with Uraya. If he asks for a reason, say he can blame it on his own incompetence.”

They watched as the Gormotti scrambled to his feet and raced out of the clearing. A Urayan stood beside Raghnall, scoffing to himself.

“Don’t get cocky. Just because the king allowed you to join us, doesn’t mean you have any authority here.”

Raghnall raised a brow. “In due time, we will have more authority than you do.”

“As long as you know your place, Ardainian.”

* * *

 

Mòrag was furious. When the only surviving soldier from her patrol got back, she had been devastated, and still was when he gave her the news. 

Why the  _ fuck _ had the Reubaltaich joined Uraya? The entire reason they had rebelled against Mor Ardain in the first place was to start a war with them! They hated them,  _ despised _ them to their core, so much that they killed their own to make a statement. So why had they gone and done such a thing? Was it because they were limited in numbers? An even bigger question was what the hell was Graull thinking? Mòrag had only met him once, but she knew more than enough to know what he would have done to them. He would have crushed the Reubaltaich with his bare hands for murdering his soldiers. Was this some sort of plan? Was he using them?

She supposed the only good thing was that it saved them the hassle of hunting them down again. They could spend all their efforts on one big enemy rather than two. Still, that was being overly optimistic.

The Special Inquisitor sat alongside Brighid, huddled in the battle camp they had set up. Several weeks had passed since she had heard of the news of the Reubaltaich, and they had shortly been thrust into the realities of war afterwards. Mòrag never would have imagined she would be back in such a position again so soon. She miserably clutched on to her whipswords as her soldiers around her readied their weapons.

“Everything alright, Lady Mòrag?” Brighid questioned.

She sighed deeply. “As I’ll ever be. Hopefully today goes well.”

It had been so long since they’d had a real battle. The scuffles they’d been a part of in the past two years were nothing compared to this. She had brought at least 100 soldiers with her, and knew Uraya would be doing the same. They were camped out in the no man’s land between Neo-Mor Ardain and Neo-Uraya once again. Despite her recent setbacks, Mòrag didn’t consider herself rusty when it came to fighting. She regularly sparred with her captains or with her friends to keep herself alert. She was not exactly nervous, more so disappointed with the whole thing. She’d do anything to reverse time to before Graull was crowned.

Brighid squeezed her gloved hand comfortingly. “It will. This war will be over before you realise.”

By the Architect, she hoped that was true.

In the midst of her bad mood, she heard the scurrying of soft feet heading her way. Mòrag glanced up to see the fuzzy brown outline of Tora, Poppi not far behind him. She forced him a smile.

“Mòrag looks sad,” he said, reaching out a wing, “can Tora help?”

Trust the Nopon to help her at a time like this. Mòrag had advised he not come, assuming he was far too soft for the realities of war, but remembered he’d also accompanied them on their journey where they had endured unimaginable horrors. He appeared gentle, though Mòrag knew he could stomach more than she thought. She appreciated the feeling of his wing tip resting on her knee. While it had taken her a while to get to like him, pissed off beyond belief that it took him so long to realise she was a woman ( _ thanks for the support, Zeke _ , she thought), she couldn’t imagine the group without him now.

He still seemed blissfully ignorant of today’s future events, though she tried to be nice all the same. “I’m fine, Tora, but thank you.”

“Is Mòrag sure? Brighid, is Mòrag doing OK?”

“Don’t you worry, I’ve got my eye on her.”

Mòrag shot her a sharp look, yet Brighid only smiled. She was grateful for her blade’s assistance in looking after her, however it quickly became suffocating. Brighid asked if she’d taken her medication every single morning. When Mòrag didn’t seem convincing enough, she’d ask to see the damn pill wrapper to count them. Mòrag wasn’t lying, she  _ was _ taking them, and she didn’t need someone coddling her  _ every _ day.

Tora was pleased with that answer. He removed his wing and tucked it close to his body as per usual. Poppi stood behind him, carefully studying Mòrag’s face for any giveaways that she wasn’t OK, but Mòrag managed to keep a neutral expression.

Just as she was about to send them on their way, someone yelled as ether bullets struck them out of nowhere.  _ Shit _ .

Mòrag jumped up in less than a second. She whirled around to see the Urayans only several hundred feet away, launching their blades into action, elements swirling together into a hazardous mix. They’d found them. 

“Everyone, to positions!” she cried out. Pulling out her swords, she unleashed a torrent of blue fire to bar them off. The wall of flames rose high into the air, making a decent blockade for her soldiers to prepare themselves.

Tora and Poppi hard darted elsewhere, presumably to protect any stray soldiers. Mòrag had to admit, Tora made a great tank. He surprisingly took the most damage out of anyone in the group, and Poppi packed one hell of a punch. The artificial blade was already firing off Spinning Cutters and Steady Drill Arts. Even soldiers as bulky as the Urayans stood no chance against their launch effects, being thrown into the air before they had the chance to scream. Good, that kept them away from their camp and supplies. 

Mòrag herself was quick to throw herself into her wall of fire and start cutting down anyone in her path. The Urayans had clearly trained, and most were wearing full sets of armour, but that didn’t stop them from being cooked alive as a series of Hellfires and Blazes rained down upon them. The metal adorning their body only served to heat up, meshing their skin into the armour itself as fire shot through them. Mòrag ignored the disgusting smell of cooked flesh and hot steel as she sliced a line straight through the bastards. She was done playing games.

Hoping Graull would take her seriously once he saw how many of his troops she had killed, Mòrag didn’t stop until she was beyond exhausted. Brighid had warned her to tone it down, too tired to keep throwing out Art after Art, though once she was all out of ether then Mòrag would just use her swords manually.

The good thing was that they were making process. Despite the Urayan’s surprise attack, they were losing. They might have toughened up, but so had the Ardainians. They wouldn’t be caught short again.

Since Mòrag was so busy taking care of whatever was in her direct line of sight, she failed to notice the lone Urayan sneaking up on her. She turned to see him raising his axe, realising with dread there was not enough time to block it before it came crashing down on her.

“Poppi, help Mòrag with Rigid Shield!”

A blast of ether later, a white screen was put up between Mòrag and the Urayan. His axe crashed into it, splintering it to pieces but leaving Mòrag unharmed.

She nodded to Tora. “You have my thanks, Tora.”

The Nopon waved, seemingly happy before a bolt of lightning crackled through the air. It was a light gold, making Mòrag’s hair stand on end due to the static. Even Tora’s feathers went spiky from the sheer power of it. 

“Wait, that’s—” Mòrag began to shout before it was too late to realise who exactly that lightning belonged to.

Another bolt razed across the ground. Fire was left in its wake, scorching the plants around it. Mòrag and Tora were quite safely out of range, but a stray spark slithered its way towards the Nopon at an alarming speed. It was weak, yet it jostled Tora so much that he was sent crashing to the floor.

“Damn it! Tora,” Mòrag said, “are you alright?!”

He limply raised a wing. Well, thank the Architect for that. Poppi was in the midst of helping him up before Mòrag whipped her head around to glare at the offender.

Eurica stood not too far away, enormous blade slung over her shoulder. How she managed to lift such a gigantic weapon was beyond Mòrag. Her petite shoulders looked as if they would collapse under the weight of it. She supposed it was  _ her _ weapon, though why was it so bulky? Suitable for a beast like Graull, maybe. The Special Inquisitor growled at the sight. Eurica still bewildered her. First she was saying she disagreed with her king’s actions, and then the next, she refused to help Mòrag when she was dangling in midair from Graull’s fist. What was this blade’s motives? What was her  _ problem _ ?

“You!” she spat. Mòrag, abandoning Brighid and Tora amongst the raging fire, made a beeline for Eurica.

The lightning blade blinked in surprise at how suddenly she was attacked, yet didn’t try and defend herself as Mòrag hurled herself at her. Her goal was not to hurt, but to pin her down.

Eurica was as light as she appeared. Mòrag had planned to knock her off her feet and keep her there, though she had failed to notice the small drop behind her, hidden by bushes. The two went tumbling over the edge.

The ditch went down quite a few metres. Mòrag hissed in pain as sharp rocks dug into her back and hands, her hat flying off somewhere as she landed in a tangled heap at the bottom. That had probably been not her wisest idea, she thought as she pushed herself onto her hands and knees. Eurica was lying a foot away, just as dazed. Mòrag wasted no time as she leapt on top of her. She thanked the fact her heavy knee guards did a good job of keeping the blade down as she straddled her.

“What do you have to say for yourself? You’ve assisted the king in causing a war!”

“I’m sorry?” Eurica asked innocently.

Mòrag curled her upper lip into a snarl. “Don’t play dumb. You told me! You _ told _ me you didn’t want this to happen, and now look at what Graull’s done! He has ruined the peace we have fought so hard to obtain!”

Eurica didn’t try to push her off. She merely laid back, perplexed as Mòrag gripped the collar of her dress. It was slit down the middle of her thighs, much like Brighid’s was. 

“Why?” Mòrag then said, voice considerably more shaky. “What does Graull want out of this?”

“I told you. I am simply his blade. I cannot do anything about his decisions.”

“You’re  _ wrong _ !” Mòrag thumped Eurica’s head back onto the rocky ground. The blade hardly flinched. “You didn’t have to help! You could have left! You know war is the wrong choice! Please, if you have any sort of heart, just…”

Her voice warbled off into a squeak. Her hands trembled where they held onto Eurica’s collar.  _ Please, not now. Don’t start crying in front of the enemy _ .

“My, it seems you’re quite upset about this, Special Inquisitor. Is something the matter?” Eurica sounded calm, but Mòrag could see past the small smirk on her face.

“ _ Shut _ up.”

She knew it was useless to harm a blade. Eurica was just as capable as regenerating her wounds as any other was, however Mòrag couldn’t stop herself from leaning her arm back. This woman was even more infuriating than Graull, with her vague answers and intentions. Mòrag’s fingers curled into a tight fist, ready to get a punch in to release her anger before she heard pebbles rolling down the side of the ditch from where they had initially fallen. Scanning her eyes upwards, she saw a glowing blue light. Brighid, for sure.

“Lady Mòrag!” she called out. “Are you unharmed?”

In the midst of the distraction, Eurica threw Mòrag off, surprising strength in her skinny arms. The Special Inquisitor landed on her side with a grunt.

“Really, it is quite unbecoming of you to be so emotional,” the blade said softly. She picked her discarded sword. “But, really, if you’re that distraught, maybe I’ll put in a word for a peace offering. Keep in touch, Special Inquisitor.

Mòrag watched as Eurica gave her a knowing wink before racing around back up the ditch. It took her a long time to sit up, and Brighid was already by her side to give her a hand. She took it and heaved herself to her feet.

“Why did you do that?” Brighid snapped. “That was reckless!”

“My apologies,” Mòrag whispered after a moment. She didn’t entirely know why herself, only that Eurica pissed her off and she needed someone to take her anger out on. Architect, she needed a break after this. When she got back she was going to take a bath and then pass out. Work be damned.

Brighid helped her crawl out of the ditch, and was pleasantly surprised to see a mostly empty battlefield.

“We won, at least,” said Brighid.

“You did all that by yourself?”

“Well, you took care of most of them, Lady Mòrag. Tora assisted me in clearing the rest, and the last members of the Urayan forces retreated. Finally we have some good news to bring home to the emperor.”

Good. Mòrag only mumbled in reply, fetching her swords from where she had dropped them just above the ditch. Tora and Poppi watched her in concern as she dragged herself back to the campsite. While her medication was helping a tad, she still had her bad moods and was damn well going to express them. She paid no one any mind as she collected her things to get ready for their long trip home. Luckily, this time, an airship was waiting for them. Mòrag found a seat in the back of the cabin and slouched into it.

* * *

 

Her irritating mother was waiting for her back at Hardhaigh.

“Welcome back, pet,” Lady Sverre cooed condescendingly as she went to gave Mòrag a kiss on the cheek. She pushed her away before she got the chance. Sure, they might be recently reunited, yet Mòrag was and had never been one for physical affection.

“I am not five, so stop treating me as such.”

Lady Sverre frowned. “Such a cold demeanor. Your poor mother only wants to know how you got on today.”

Mòrag rolled her eyes but allowed her mother to walk next to her. “Well, we won. Uraya have retreated for the time being.”

“Good riddance.”

They began heading up the stairs opposite the main entrance. Tora and Poppi had sloped off to the cafeteria, complaining about being hungry on the way back. Mòrag’s stomach was protesting too but she was too fed up to go and eat with a load of other people. She’d just have someone send a meal around when she felt more relaxed. Eating when she was stressed wasn’t pleasant, so Mòrag allowed her stomach to growl.

Her mother continued to prattle next to her. Lady Sverre was talking mindlessly about starting a new novel, apparently inspired by their reunion before she said something about the emperor that caught Mòrag’s attention.

“Pardon? The emperor?”

“Yes, I was hoping you could introduce me. I long to meet your lovely cousin.”

Yikes. Lady Sverre speaking to Niall? Mòrag couldn’t imagine a more disastrous occasion. She was about to deny her request before she realised that Niall had no idea she was even here. He never questioned Mòrag’s choice of guests, trusting her entirely, so she hadn’t bothered to mention her to him. Or, rather, she didn’t want to. Her mother seemed like the type of woman to embarrass her at any given opportunity. Having her press about makeup and marriage was annoying enough.

“Um, I don’t think right now is a good time—”

“Nonsense, surely the emperor can spare some time for his aunt!”

Mòrag sighed.

Niall was in the throne room as usual, and to Mòrag’s dismay, so were a lot of other people. Every single of of his advisors were present and were buzzing around a table, no doubt discussing strategies or the day’s events. Niall himself was speaking to a couple of guards. When he saw Mòrag approach him, he broke into a wide smile.

“Special Inquisitor,” he greeted as she got on one knee and bowed deeply.

“Sorry to intrude, Your Majesty,” she said, “but, uh, I have a guest here—”

Lady Sverre squealed and ran forth to take Niall’s hand, not stopping to bow. Mòrag’s eyes widened in shock at her audacity, and the guards tensed as if they were about to shoot her down on the spot. How dare she! That was the bloody emperor of Mor Ardain! Nephew or not, she still had to pay him respects!”

“Oh, look at you! My ex-brother in law’s son!”

Niall stared up at her, stunned. He smiled weakly. “Oh, uh, who’s this?”

Mòrag grabbed Lady Sverre by the shoulder and pulled her back. “You must bow before His Majesty at once!” she hissed.

Curtseying quickly, Lady Sverre ignored how she was being glared at by everyone in the room. No one could just go and grab the emperor like that, not even Mòrag. Well, it was more like his guards and advisors didn’t like it. Niall, ever the polite young man, would just grin and bear it. 

“My deepest apologies!” Mòrag spluttered. “Your Majesty, this is… Lady Sverre, my, um… mother.”

Niall glanced back and forth between the two of them. “Your mother?”

Cringing on the inside, Mòrag prepared herself for the long explanations.

They had decided, in the end, to take a seat in the far corner of the throne room where sofas and tables were laid out. As it was right next to the window, late evening sunlight filtered in and warmed the area quite nicely. While they were given privacy, Mòrag could feel the stares of everyone in the room on the back of her head. They had been shocked at the word ‘mother’, surprised that one of Mòrag’s parents was even alive. Most people here had not worked at the palace when Mòrag was born. She awkwardly clung onto her glass of water while Lady Sverre sat next to Niall.

“So, how did you two get back in touch?” the emperor asked politely.

_ Blame those two idiots for tha _ t, Mòrag grumbled internally. “Rex and Zeke were kind enough to seek her out for me.”

“How nice of them,” said Niall. If only he knew.

“Aren’t they darlings?” Lady Sverre crooned. “Without them, I never would have seen how much my daughter has grown. Here she is, taking on entire armies by herself. And here  _ you _ are, the emperor of Mor Ardain.”

This was her valuable relaxation time dripping down the drain. Mòrag had to stop herself from groaning as Lady Sverre went on another one of her ramblings, putting both her and Niall in an awkward position. She noticed her brother flash her a weak smile, reading his expression perfectly. He seemed happy that Lady Sverre had returned after so many years, though shifted uncomfortably because she was, well, like this.

It was late in the evening, so they couldn’t stay too long as the emperor needed his much needed rest, though he did well to stick it out and listen to his aunt talk. The conversation was pointless, only serving to waste time, so Mòrag forced her mother to stop to allow her brother to retire for the night.

“Another time, dear Niall!” Lady Sverre called out.

Mòrag tried not to think about it too much on her way back to her quarters. She was tired from earlier, happy that the battle was won but suffering with Eurica’s words dancing around in her mind.

What had she meant by peace offering? Did she actually mean she would talk to Graull, or was she screwing around?

She shut the bedroom door with a resigned sigh. She’d think about it when she’d slept for three days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took a while. my sleep schedule is backwards so i feel sick and tired 24/7, and the UK is amidst a heat wave, and my pale british body can't handle it. i got a bit lazy with this one but we are getting closer to some juicy action scenes!!


	16. Our Birthright - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The history of Mòrag's parents and upbringing - part one of two.

****At the tender age of two, Mòrag was blissfully ignorant to her parents’ troubles.

Married for a meager three years, it was not unheard of for the servants of Hardhaigh to overhear their arguing. It was petty; unnecessary. Yet, they continued to bicker until the late hours of the night. Their daughter was often left in the care of her assigned governess. It broke Lord Eandraig’s heart, but as the prince and military advisor, he could spare little time for his daughter.

Lord Eandraig was much like his child would be later in life. Stiff and commandeering, he paid not much attention to anything besides his job. As the youngest son of the late emperor, he was merely second in line for the throne, which was given to his elder brother. Not that it bothered him. He would have accepted whatever duty he was given, but he quickly adapted to the military lifestyle. The art of being a driver came naturally to him. Already partnered with three blades, Eandraig was content in ruling the Ardainian army.

Except that peace was short lived until it was found out his brother was infertile.

Their father was upset for days. While the emperor didn’t seem too upset by that fact, the court was in disarray. 

“Who will serve as his heir?”

The question rang loud and clear, yet nothing could be done. The emperor would not be able to conceive children any time soon, and his parents were well past the age of fertility. Their only options for a legitimate heir would be to use some children from distance relatives, but that hardly seemed favourable. It was then that Eandraig’s mother turned to him.

“You’re still young,” she pressed, hand digging into his arm. “Find a wife! Please, darling, our lineage is in danger. We wouldn’t want to give up the throne to one of your third cousins, now, would we?”

Huffing, Eandraig threw her off. “I am aware of the situation.”

Her begging did not cease. For the next year, Eandraig was hounded by his parents and members of the court to get married and have a child to serve as the next heir. While Eandraig himself was technically next in line, there was no one younger than him in the Ardanach and Ladair lines. There were others, though as his mother had so helpfully pointed out, they were so distantly related they were hardly royalty. It was an option no one wanted to face.

Their family had split down the middle quite a few centuries ago. While originally there had been only Ardanach, a marriage to a nobleman of the name Ladair divided the royal family into two. Even though both Eandraig and his brother were born to the same father, Eandraig's mother was a woman in the Ladair house and as he was the youngest, kept her surname. She had adopted his elder brother once his own passed away young. While that sounded as if that things easier by giving them a nice selection of heirs to choose from, that hardly meant anything now. The pressure was all on Eandraig, and he wasn’t even bothered.

Perhaps it was just bitterness, he thought to himself. That Ladair was always the second choice compared to Ardanach, and he somehow resented that fact. He didn’t _feel_ like he did, but who knew? The human psyche was beyond mysterious.

Lord Eandraig then found himself at his millionth party before he knew it.

Another fabled attempt to wed him. He had rejected noblewoman after noblewoman, finding them too curt in their mannerisms or simply unpleasant. They had even began suggesting some rich commoners or nobles from other nations. Eandraig had scoffed at the idea, becoming more stubborn by the minute. Why should he have to change his life to suit them? He loved his brother, and found his sister-in-law charming, though he prided himself on being a free man. The house of Ladair were built for that very thing. Sulking to himself, tugging at the tight collar of his suit and pulling at his national sash, he stormed outside of the ballroom.

The prince ended up on an abandoned balcony. _Good_ , he thought. He liked his peace and quiet. No doubt his mother would come searching for him, but if he could get five minutes alone, then he would.

He removed his white jacket and threw it on a chair. Mor Ardain was becoming unbearably warm. While it _was_ summer, Eandraig had found the temperature to be rising more rapidly than expected. They all knew their titan was on its way out, so why they were so keen on upholding old traditions was beyond him. Maybe they wanted to go down with it. To have their royal lineages perish with the earth that had supported them for all these years. He would have found that funny if it was a joke, though at this rate he wouldn’t be surprised if it were true.

Amidst his brooding, he hardly noticed a young lady had come to join him. He jumped as he turned around to see her leaning on the balcony right next to him.

“Hasn’t it been a lovely summer?” she commented idly. She wasn’t even looking at him, just gazing at the gardens below. The roses had been quite beautiful during spring, yet the summer heat had mercilessly scorched them by now. The royal gardens were not much of a view anymore.

“Oh, er, yes,” Eandraig replied awkwardly. He disagreed completely, but he could hardly be rude to a guest.

He sealed his lips into a tight line when the woman turned to face him. She was a noble, no mistaking it, however Eandraig did not feel the same as when he had laid eyes on the others.

She was dressed in green, a plethora of precious stones hanging from her neck and wrists. While Eandraig was not one for excessiveness, he had to admit that the jewels made her stand out amongst all the other rich people he had been forced to mingle with his evening. Her raven hair was styled with an emerald pin, and the deep bronze of her eyes made his heart flutter. After coughing to hide his embarrassment, Eandraig blinked a few times.

“Lord Eandraig!” the woman cried in surprise upon seeing his face. “I’m so sorry, I did not recognise you! Please forgive my brashness.”

Finding her apology charming rather than irritating, Eandraig laughed it off.

“There is no need for concern, one would not expect to find me out here.”

“Is the party not to your taste?”

He pursed his lips. “Not exactly. I’ve never been one for formal events, given my occupation.”

Still… after he turned to gaze at the noble again, he felt somewhat glad he came along for this one. While she had hardly said anything, the prince found himself enamoured. 

Thus, he got on one knee and took her hand, as he normally would with any other noblewoman. It was custom, and while he usually detested such an intimate act, he didn’t mind _this_ time. The woman flushed under her thick makeup as he pressed his lips to her knuckles, after trying to find a finger that wasn’t adorned with a ring. When he moved his head back, he flashed her what he hoped was a charming smile. He had never been the romantic type.

“May I have your name, my lady?”

The noblewoman smiled. “Alice.”

* * *

 

Upon returning to the ballroom after an hour of endless chatter, Eandraig was almost ambushed by his mother as per expected. She had an expression of fury on her face before she caught sight of Alice on her son’s arm. She almost fell over in happiness.

“Oh! I see you’ve met Alice Sverre!”

“You are from the Sverre family?” Eandraig asked curiously, glancing at his ‘date’.

From what he knew, the Sverres had always been difficult to deal with. A rich family, obviously, always having their place known in Ardainian politics. He was simply surprised a woman so young had been a member when he was certain they had all grown old by now. Alice nudged herself further against him, clearly shy in the presence of the prince’s mother. She, of course, curtseyed politely before she did so.

They did not get long to talk before a man pulled Alice away. A family member, Eandraig suspected. Once she was out of earshot, his mother dragged him to a more secluded corner.

“Marry her!”

His eyes widened. “What? We’ve only just met!”

“Oh, you must, darling. Having the Sverres on our side would be beneficial! They are of a different political party, after all. Not to mention, I see that bewitched look on your face! You can’t fool me, Eandraig.”

Her tittering laugh was enough to make Eandraig growl in frustration. Titan’s foot, his mother was something else. He was about to protest, saying that he was only being friendly, but he stopped upon seeing the pure _hope_ on her features. It was enough to squeeze his heart painfully. He knew that she only cared for their lineage to be passed down, though she was still his mother. He didn’t want to hurt her by continuously turning down possible wives when he knew he had a duty to perform. Sighing, he peered down.

“We’ll see, mother.”

Despite saying that, Eandraig found himself dressed in his groom’s attire in a matter of three months.

It wasn’t as if he wasn’t excited. Alice had been just as charismatic as she had when he first met her at the party, though he would have preferred to wait a _bit_ longer to propose. With enough pushing from his parents and the court, he was almost forced to present her with a ring. To his great surprise, she accepted immediately, throwing her arms around him as if they had been together for years. It was all too sudden, too much, but Eandraig forced his doubts down and stated his vows. Upon locking lips at the altar, he knew that his life would belong to his lineage from now on.

Alice wasn’t a bad wife, not at first. She was pleasant, understanding, and beyond delighted when she fell pregnant shortly after their marriage. Eandraig was overjoyed, yet his wife’s genuineness began to fade the further along in her pregnancy she got.

During month five, when the two were picking names for their child, Eandraig’s view on her changed.

“How about Agnes?” he suggested while sitting at their table. Alice scoffed and snatched the list from him. They had long received the news that their child was female, so they now only had to focus on selecting appropriate names for that gender.

“Nonsense,” she said. “How about something more modern, like Emilia or Lily?”

Eandraig frowned. “Those are not very traditional for an Ardainian.”

“Does it matter? Our daughter is going to be the next empress! She’ll need a pretty name to go with that title, and no Ardainian name will be suitable. They’re all horrid sounding.”

Well, he wasn’t sure about that. Eandraig chuckled and leaned his arms on the table. “Well, she will still be our daughter first and foremost.”

Alice merely shrugged. It was such a simple reaction, something most people would miss, yet for some reason it sent a jolt of anger down Eandraig’s spine. Did she not care that their child was theirs, caring more about her future title? She may become the empress in some years, but before that, she was going to need all the loving and nurturing a parent could give her. Eandraig knew that she could not be raised with one purpose in mind. He knew firsthand how dehumanising that felt.

Eventually, after quite a lot of arguing, Eandraig found a name. He had been reading a book that evening, of a story of a female knight in Mor Ardain’s early days. Along with her blade, she had swept through half of Uraya’s army single handedly and brought peace to the nation. While the story was historically true, it was written like a fairytale, and perhaps Eandraig’s youth came to the surface when he settled his gaze on the knight’s name.

 _Mòrag_.

His wife _hated_ it. 

“ _Anything_ but that!” she had chided. Despite her complaining, Eandraig had put his foot down. It was his child too, after all. They had gone through hundreds of names, from Aileen to Catriona, though he found Alice was persuaded when he told her that Mòrag meant ‘princess’. However, she continued to grumble about his choice of names right up until she went into labour.

Now, _that_ hadn’t been an easy day for any of them.

“You did this!” Alice snarled on the hospital bed, grabbing her husband by the collar and shaking him. “ _You_ did this to me, you son of a bitch! I swear to the Architect, if I live through this, I’m calling her whatever I damn well please!” 

Honestly, it was such a stressful ordeal that Eandraig found himself doubting the entire thing. He shouldn’t have said yes to his mother and married so easily. He tried to love Alice, but since living with her, discovered they were hardly compatible. She was loud, he was quiet. She loved parties and social events, while he preferred to keep to himself or to his work. The only thing that seemed to hold them together was their daughter, and even that was driving Alice crazy. Not that he could blame her. She _was_ in the middle of giving birth. Not exactly the most pleasant of situations.

Doubt clouded his mind until Mòrag was born, and Eandraig instantly fell in love with her.

Poor Alice had fallen asleep shortly afterwards, leaving Eandraig to hold her through the rest of the night. She was such a tiny thing, lying in his arms, sporting her mother’s brown eyes and tufts of raven hair. To his great surprise, she hadn’t cried once. She simply gazed around the room, taking everything in silently. While Eandraig knew she would be the spitting image of Alice in the future, she had that unmistakable aura of a soldier. As he cradled her, he leaned his head back against the chair in the dark hospital room.

“Oh, Mòrag,” he whispered. Mòrag wordlessly blinked at him, as babies did. “Let’s hope you don’t share the same neuroticism as your mother.”

* * *

 

He had been right about her appearance. By the age of one and a half, Mòrag’s hair had grown out quite a bit, and it was as every bit as silky as Alice’s. Eandraig watched her play on the tiled floor with wooden knights and horses as his half-brother wandered up beside him.

“Isn’t she a chip off the old block?” he crooned, partially teasing. “Bet she’ll be leading the army just like you.”

Eandraig laughed heartily. “A bit too soon for that, isn’t it?”

“What? Of course not. I can see her now, bounding into battle with ten blades at her side by the age of five. She’s got that look about her, Eandraig.”

Mòrag glanced at him from where she was sitting. She had always been very careful with her toys, especially for an infant. The wooden knights hadn’t been knocked down once. She gave her uncle a little wave as he smiled at her. While she was still quite shy when it came to most people, Eandraig was pleased that she was fond of her uncle. It also pleased him that she was so reserved. Most people would probably be upset with such a shy child, but for him, it couldn’t be better. It was always the shy ones that grew up to be the most wise and stable, and he had great hopes for her. The future empress of Mor Ardain.

Alice was often nowhere to be found, despite having a child to keep her busy. Eandraig had been sitting and watching their daughter for several hours each day, and if he was lucky, Alice would sometimes show up for an hour or so before disappearing again. It was beginning to irk him.

So, when Mòrag had her second birthday, Eandraig decided to confront his wife.

“Dear, I really think you should be spending more time with Mòrag,” he said as gently as he possibly could. Alice raised a plucked eyebrow.

“What? You don’t think I’m taking good enough care of our child?”

“Well, you see, Mòrag misses you. She gets lonely when it’s just the two of us. I know being a mother is difficult, but could you spare some time for her today?”

He wasn’t surprised when Alice huffed in annoyance. “Can’t you see I’m tired, Eandraig? Let the governess spend time with her if it’s that important!”

“How could you say that about your daughter?” Eandraig snapped back. “You hardly do anything besides from preening yourself and going to your expensive parties!”

Alice gasped dramatically and sat down. “Maybe that’s the way I like it.”

So that was it. The truth. Eandraig balled his fists and stormed out of the room, picking up Mòrag on his way out. The toddler looked between her parents in a daze, utterly confused. She held out a tiny hand for her mother, who only turned her head in the other direction. Eandraig held onto her tightly. If his wife didn’t care about their child, then he was going to have to do it for her. He wasn’t surprised the woman had been using him for his wealth and luxuries the entire time. Perhaps he should have seen it coming when she accepted his marriage proposal so readily. He had been fooled by her beauty and charm.

It was even less of a surprise when the two fell into more arguments. Day after day, it would be about what Mòrag was doing, how she should be getting ready for school, and then counterarguments from Eandraig about how she was only a toddler. It was always ‘she’s going to be the empress one day’, or ‘she’s still a child!’. The stress of how to raise his daughter made Eandraig’s eyes dark and his head sore. It wasn’t long after that when Alice asked for a divorce.

Eandraig hadn’t argued. “Fine,” he had said. “Leave if you want. I will be keeping Mòrag, however.”

Alice hadn’t argued, either. She hardly said goodbye to her daughter as she signed the divorce papers and left Hardhaigh for good. It was so sudden. Eandraig sat down in shock when it was all over, tears burning his eyes as Mòrag clung to his leg.

“Don’t worry, poppet,” he said to her, patting her head, “we’ll be alright without mummy.”

Mòrag didn’t seem to agree. While she hardly saw her mother before, she became quite upset to find her gone. Eandraig had to hold her through long nights of crying and wailing, only for Alice to not return. Did he miss her? Not really. He didn’t think he ever truly loved her in the first place, his affections being directed at Mòrag instead. He was fine with that. His daughter deserved the best, after all, and if she had to be away from Alice to get that, then so be it.

With the help of Mòrag’s governess, Eandraig saw that she grew up to be quite the intelligent child. While reserved, Mòrag had no trouble in her private tutoring and quickly grasped the idea of her fate. She was reading Ardainian history books by the time she was five.

Little did she know, however, was that would be the year that her life would crumble.

“Daddy will be back tomorrow,” her father had promised. Mòrag gazed at him with gleaming eyes, gently holding his hand. “Daddy just has to go on a little trip. Will you be a good girl and wait for me?”

Mòrag nodded. “Yes, da.”

Eandraig beamed. “That’s my princess.”

He never did come back. Mòrag had waited patiently, though it was well into the evening of the next day when she became worried. Her father had promised he’d be back by now, hadn’t he? So what was taking so long? Putting down the wooden knights that she often favoured, she crept out of the palace’s playroom and padded down the dark hallways. She had made a fair distance before her governess found her.

“Mòrag, what are you doing out here?”

The young princess gazed at the floor. “Da’s not back yet.”

She didn’t understand the broken look on her governess’ face. Why did she appear so sad? Her governess gently took her by the hand and guided her to her bedroom, saying that she had something to tell her. Mòrag was confused, but didn’t protest. Her father had always said to listen to her governess, after all.

She frowned when she was sat down and told that her father had been in an accident. She didn’t know what ‘military’ meant, or what a ‘rifle’ was. The only word she understood was ‘gone’.

“Huh?” she whispered.

The governess wiped her eyes. “I’m so sorry, dear, but your father isn’t coming back.”

Still not understanding, Mòrag was brought to the funeral alongside her uncle, the emperor. He held her hand as the speeches were given, saying what a good man Eandraig had been, and all the services he had done for the empire. Mòrag kept looking back between them and her uncle. What did they mean? What was going on? Where was her father? It had been several days since he said he’d come back, right? His work never took him this long.

Tugging at the emperor’s sleeve, she whimpered, “Uncle? Where’s da?”

The man almost broke down crying where he stood. He knelt down and placed a hand on Mòrag’s shoulder. “He’s gone, sweetie. He died.”

Tears welled up in her eyes. Still so young, the concept of death did not mean much to her, yet seeing her uncle like that, and seeing everyone around her weeping, it was too much. She turned to the coffin, draped with a red cloth. 

“Dad!” she cried out. Her uncle managed to stop her before she raced to the coffin to pry it open. “Uncle, why is he in there?!”

“Mòrag, please,” her uncle said, trying to hold her flailing body. “We’ll talk about this later, I promise, but for now… you have to say goodbye.”

“But he said he’d come back!”

The emperor could no longer hold back his tears. Mòrag had never seen a grown man cry before, let alone the emperor himself. She stopped, bewildered, just for a moment. She remained as still as a statue as her uncle held her in an embrace, his sobs wracking his body. Once she got over her surprise, she began to sob too.

* * *

 

It was days after the funeral when Mòrag spoke again. She had holed herself up in her room, too traumatised to do anything else. She had only recently been forced to understand what death truly meant, after all, so no one had bothered her. Her uncle gave her a sad smile when she finally approached him.

“How are you, Mòrag?” he asked softly.

She nodded. “I’m OK.”

“I… I know this isn’t the best time,” her uncle said, “but we’ve all had a chat about you. You have… a bright future ahead of you, so I’ll be your new guardian.”

She asked what a guardian was. When he explained, she smiled back. She liked her uncle. He was funny, and when he wasn’t working, he showed her around the palace and tried to explain all the fancy paintings and statues. Mòrag didn’t understand a word, though she liked listening to him talk anyway. So she held his hand when he offered it to her. 

“Thanks, uncle.”

The emperor nodded. “Of course, little empress.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fma feels, anyone? also, i went and added chapter titles so now im not confused all the time!


	17. Our Birthright - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The history of Mòrag's parents and upbringing - part two of two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope people are still reading this. this fic is killing me but im enjoying it and i really like this chapter, so hopefully you guys will too.

During the early years of her childhood, Mòrag spent much of her time alone. If she was not in her room, then she was outside in her own private corner of the gardens. Taking advantage of a shaded area between the hedges, Mòrag would read while avoiding the servants. 

It wasn’t as if they were bad to her. They were often very nice, yet Mòrag needed her time alone. Her uncle had said she had been far more outgoing before her father had passed. Not that she minded. Her routine consisted of studying, reading, and then more studying. It was all political nonsense, or Ardainian history, or learning about every single ancestor she ever had. Even at such a young age, Mòrag didn’t know why she needed to know about what kind of armour her great great great grandfather wore in order to rule a country.

She was an intelligent child. From the age of five onwards, she could read at an adult pace and showed impressive memory work. Her uncle taught her how to play chess on their afternoons together. Her favourite piece was the queen. 

“That will be you one day,” Uncle said as he waved his queen. He was playing white. “The white queen, Empress of Mor Ardain. This is your strongest piece. The queen can move in any direction, across as many squares as she pleases. The king acts as her empire, one you must guard with your life.”

At first, Mòrag believed that the goal of chess was to take all of the other’s pieces. Uncle frowned and shook his head.

“The key to ruling is not about attacking. It is about wit. You can take as many pieces as you like but you will not win unless you corner my king.”

Thus, Mòrag viewed it as a more strategic game. It was easy enough to throw all of her pawns out onto the board, sacrificing them left and right so she could handle her bigger pieces more carefully, though she always ended up at a loss. Why? She had kept her queen strong, moving in at safe angles and taking both of his knights, one rook and one bishop, leaving him with hardly anything to protect his king. And yet, somehow, he kept beating her.

She huffed and folded her arms. Uncle was smiling smugly, twirling her king in his fingers. He was only teasing her, but Architect, it got so frustrating! She was doing what a queen was supposed to do, wasn’t she?

On a late summer evening, Mòrag found herself in a situation that was completely new.

Half of her pawns had gone. No matter. Mòrag felt confident with her others, though began to sweat when her rooks were taken, and her knights were trapped against the sides in awkward positions. That left her with two bishops and her queen. The bishops  _ could  _ move in to swipe some of Uncle’s pawns, but he had others waiting for them. She would end up letting go of her last remaining good pieces to knock some of his off, and it wouldn’t be worth the price. Not when the king was sitting at the back, vulnerable.

So what could she do? Mòrag gazed at the tiled board for a long time. Uncle was kind and didn’t give her a time limit. She pondered each possibility concerning her knights and bishops, but found there was no way to get them to be useful. They were stuck. The only piece that could realistically move was the queen, although if she did, then Uncle’s knight could take it.

However, if she  _ did _ move it, then she could take his knight with hers, and put the cowering king into check. Was it worth it? Mòrag had never deliberately sacrificed her queen before. It was far too precious.

Her fingers began to reach for it before her brain began to process what she was doing. She didn’t stop herself. If she didn’t move her queen, then she would just end up losing again. It was time to take a risk. As predicted, her uncle took it, and Mòrag immediately swooped in with her once trapped knight. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, and after two more moves of pushing the king into a corner, he held a finger to his chin.

“Ah. You’ve won.”

“Finally!” Mòrag cheered. “That’s checkmate, Uncle!”

He clapped. “Well done.”

“I didn’t… expect to have to do that.”

“What? You mean sacrifice your queen?” Mòrag nodded. The emperor placed a hand on her small shoulder, a gentle smile on his face. “Yes, I was watching to see if you would make that choice.

“So you did it on purpose?”

“No, not entirely. I did notice how the pieces were positioned towards the end, and left my king where it was. You see, dear, ruling isn’t just about being strong. Despite the queen being so powerful, able to jump across the board in all directions, that isn’t her only purpose. Sometimes, to rule efficiently, you have to make sacrifices. You did that by sacrificing the queen so you could put me into checkmate.”

That didn’t seem like it made sense. If she had to sacrifice herself, then what was the point of even being on the throne? Uncle went into a little more detail on how sacrifice could mean anything, not only its literal definition. Mòrag thought about it until she went to bed that night. She kept her black queen and set it on the nightstand next to her. It sat there in the dark, glinting in the weak moonlight drifting in. She ended up holding on to it for a while. That queen became a personal symbol to her.

She kept it nearby whenever she studied alone. When faced with challenges designed to test her knowledge of battle, she looked at the chess piece. What would the queen do? Would she conquer, or would she become a martyr?

It still didn’t mean much to her for a long time. It was only until days before her ninth birthday when she learned how devastating the effects of a sacrifice could be.

Mòrag entered the throne room. It was the midst of winter, and also the beginning of the year. She expected her uncle and his wife to be in the parlour considering it was so chilly, but she found them amongst a crowd of aides and advisors. There was a happy buzz in the air. What was going on?

“Oh, there you are, Mòrag!” Uncle’s wife called out. “Come here, we have such exciting news for you.”

She padded up and stood between her adoptive parents. Uncle looked overjoyed. They proudly stood together and held hands.

“You’re going to have a younger cousin!”

Huh? Mòrag blinked a few times. She looked at her uncle. He was well into his 40s, and his wife close in age. Not that she was knowledgeable on such a topic though she had figured they were too old to have children. Hadn’t uncle said he couldn’t, anyway? Glancing back and forth between them, she cocked her head to the side.

“Really?”

“Yes, isn’t it wonderful?” Uncle said happily. “It seems the Architect has shown mercy on the Ardanach line after all these years.”

“And you know what that means,” said his wife, “you won’t have to be the next empress anymore. How great is that? No more studying!”

Mòrag almost fell over in shock. What the hell did she  _ mean _ , she didn’t have to be empress? What did having a new cousin have to do with that? They… they weren’t going to give the position to them, were they? They hadn’t even been born yet! By the looks of it, Uncle’s wife was newly pregnant. There were no telltale signs of an infant growing in her other than their announcement.

It seemed Uncle could tell what she was thinking. He knelt down to her level as he often did when speaking to her, that hand on her shoulder again. This time, Mòrag flinched under the touch.

“Darling, this was always a… possibility. You know the Ardanach line rules first and foremost. I’m afraid if everything goes well with this pregnancy, then your cousin—no, your _ sibling _ will become the next monarch instead.”

It was that moment that Mòrag felt her world shatter.

She had been trained since birth to become empress. Every second of every day, it was studying, politics, history, chess, strategies… and what, now it was all for nothing? Because the Ladairs weren’t good enough? Her  _ father _ wasn’t good enough? He died for their country, and now  _ this _ is how they were repaying him?

She ended up running out of the room. Uncle tried to call her back, yet she made a beeline for her bedroom and dove under the bed. The princess hugged her knees and squeezed her eyes shut. She had knocked against her nightstand in her panic, and ignored whatever had fallen onto the floor in front of her. Only opening her eyes after five minutes, she saw the cursed queen chess piece. Mocking her,  _ taunting _ her. It had fallen, and so had she.

Were all those chess lessons worthless now? All of that time spent strategising and mulling over what a sacrifice meant was a waste? Mòrag rolled over, refusing to look at the queen anymore. It no longer applied to her.

The next week was spent hiding. Uncle had tried to talk to her, and so had his wife, but Mòrag clammed up. She did not attend any of her lessons and spent her birthday in complete solitude. They didn’t want her, anyway. They just cared about their new baby.

Bitterness festered in her young heart as the days ticked away. She was too innocent to be so angry, and Mòrag found that she couldn’t deal with such strong emotions. After fits of temper tantrums and lashing out, she was given her first punishments. It made no difference to her. Each punishment just made the anger grow stronger,  _ fiercer _ . It coiled inside her stomach like a snake. Some days were so bad, particularly towards the end of the pregnancy, Mòrag considered running away before she calmed down and told herself off for being stupid. Despite how all her parents talked about was their damned baby, they reassured her she still had many choices to pick from later in life. How she could be a politician, a knight, or a driver, even. Mòrag was still at an age where she had no idea what she wanted to do, seeing as how one choice had been drilled into her brain for so long. She didn’t know  _ how _ to think about anything else.

Even on the night of Uncle’s wife’s labour, Mòrag refused to see her. Uncle had practically begged her to give her a goodbye before she went to the hospital, though Mòrag stubbornly crossed her arms and stuck out her tongue. She expected Uncle to be angry, but he only sighed and left without another word.

They returned the next day. Since Mòrag had tired herself out from all of her recent outbursts, she no longer felt the same fury she had last night. She crept out of her room to see Uncle comforting his exhausted wife on a wheelchair, with a bundle of silk in her arms.

Uncle gave her a small smile. “Mòrag, would you like to come and meet your brother?”

She nodded. It was a sheepish nod, as she was embarrassed of her behaviour last time she had interacted with him. He beckoned her forth without mentioning it.

“This is Niall.”

Unwrapping the silk blankets, Mòrag saw the tiniest baby she had ever laid eyes on. As soon as her eyes met his, two giant blue irises washed away all the anger that had been festering inside her for the past nine months. What laid within her adoptive mother’s arms was no curse, but a gift. As Niall stretched out his hand to grab onto her finger, Mòrag heart melted. How could she hate such an innocent being? It was not Niall’s fault that he was born here, fated to a life of royalty. She suddenly felt so very guilty about how she’d wished things would go wrong, or begging the Architect to make everyone change their minds. If she had to hate someone, then it should be her ancestors, not her newborn brother.

Upon seeing him smile, with his tiny arms flailing, only then did Mòrag realise what sacrifice meant.

It was not about ruling, or conquering. It was not about wars or strategies or how quickly one could defeat their opponents. In that fated day she had finally beat her uncle, Mòrag had been the queen. Pondering whether to make the painful decision, she had ultimately sacrificed herself to the knight in order to save her king. She had to lose to win. 

Sacrifice did not mean loss and suffering. It stood for ultimate victory, protection and love. The pain associated with it was just a symbol of how powerful such an action could be. 

That day, Mòrag decided she would sacrifice all to protect the king. To protect Niall.

* * *

 

The years came and went. By twelve, Mòrag was more advanced than most of her peers, and by 16, she had finally decided what she could do with her life. 

Her father had been a driver, and so had many of the Ladair descendants. Upon viewing the Ardainian soldiers with their blades, Mòrag felt the same urge to bond with a partner to become an unstoppable force. If her brother needed protection, then she was going to have to be strong. One could not sacrifice if they had nothing to lose. Maybe her perception of such a thing had warped over time, driven by her need to ensure no harm came to Niall, but Mòrag was dead set on getting her own blade.

“Are you sure you want to risk it, my dear?” Niall’s mother asked, concern written all over her face. “You know the risks. What if you fail?”

“I will gladly give my life trying.”

Ah, ever the drama queen. Mòrag went straight to the emperor to make her request known. He had been surprised, yet not nearly as worried as his wife had been. He grinned when Mòrag refused to back down from the idea, eyes blazing with determination.

“Well, if you’re going to be a driver, then you need a good blade. Not just any old core crystal will do for someone like you.”

She was led to an enormous room. Books and records filled each wall from top to bottom, the familiar blue light of core crystals shining between them in separated glass cases. The one that Uncle wanted was so far up he had to request a servant to climb a ladder to fetch it. They delicately plucked the core crystal from its perch with some sort of tool and placed it in a box. Uncle took it and then presented it to Mòrag. It was a deep brown with trails of golden fire etched across its surface. Bolted on was a plaque that read ‘Brighid’. 

“Now, usually this one is entrusted to the monarch, but I know you have potential, Mòrag. Potential to be as strong as you want to be. Thus, as the 48th Emperor of Mor Ardain, I am entrusting Brighid, Jewel of the Empire, to you.”

The core crystal didn’t look any different from the others. It was a brilliant blue, pulsing with energy. Mòrag didn’t hesitate to touch it.

Power. Unbelievable power coursed through her as soon as her finger made contact. Mòrag gasped and stumbled back, the crystal clenched tightly in her hand. She felt the burning energy course through her veins and burn behind her eyes. It was all so sudden, so quick, that Mòrag hardly realised she was back in the real world on her hands and knees. Her uncle was by her side to help her up. 

As her vision adjusted, she saw flecks of light burst forth from the crystal and into a tall figure. It was so bright that she couldn’t look directly at it until it had died down. There, before her, was a blade.

Oh! What a beautiful being! She had long purple hair that was alight with blue fire, along with her gloves and leggings. Her dress was slit right from her crystal, showing quite a lot of skin though still appearing well-designed. Two golden swords were strapped to her hip. She bowed gracefully before Mòrag, the fire on her hair never wavering for even a moment. 

“Greetings,” she said in a silky voice, “I am Brighid. You must be my new driver.”

Mòrag was too stunned to say anything. She had actually resonated with a blade! And such a powerful one too! She had heard stories of Brighid, how she was a blade regularly passed down from each Ardainian monarch to the next. She had travelled with Hugo, a distance relative from the Torna days at one point. This truly was a blade with history. Except, she wouldn’t remember any of it now, would she? It made Mòrag feel both sad and pleased. She was sad such extensive history was wiped clean from her memory, but on the other hand, this blade was now hers and hers alone. A partner.

Uncle took a long time explaining everything. After he had introduced Mòrag, he took them both to a study and filled in Brighid on their country and what her purpose was. She was to be Mòrag’s blade during her time training as a driver and soldier. She listened intently throughout the next few hours. Mòrag had to give it to her; she had an excellent attention span.

Since her training began immediately, Mòrag had a short window of time to get to know Brighid at a relaxed pace. While she was quite a bit older now, she hadn’t been outside of the palace much. Brighid was technically her first friend other than some of the servants.

“Sounds like you have quite the life cut out for you,” said Brighid. She calmly sat on the edge of Mòrag’s bed as the other slumped into a seat.

“Tell me about it. I’m excited, don’t get me wrong, but the pressure is unbelievable.”

The two spoke for a while. In spite of only recently having woken up, Brighid was an easy talker. She listened calmly to Mòrag complain about her studies and then talk about her brother fondly. It was such a contrast that the blade had to stop and ask a question.

“Is the reason you became a driver for your brother?”

Mòrag nodded. “Yes. I want to protect him. Protect all of Mor Ardain, really.”

“A noble goal, yet what about yourself?”

“Hmm?”

“As in, what are you doing for yourself?”

Stunned, Mòrag peered down. She hadn’t expected such a question. “Well, I’m protecting my brother for myself, aren’t I?”

While it wasn’t quite the answer Brighid was looking for, she didn’t press further. After all, her new driver had a big day tomorrow, what with her first day of military training. It was a slight worry. Since Mòrag was capable of resonating with her, Brighid knew she was the opposite of weak, but she was so petite. No doubt there would be plenty of soldiers that were willing to take advantage of that. Either to mock her or to be malicious. Mòrag would have to be careful, though Brighid would look out for her regardless. It was what blades did.

Brighid ended up being right. 

Early the next morning, Mòrag was dressed in her new uniform. It was similar to an actual Ardainian soldier, but since she was a cadet, her uniform only consisted of the leather vest, black boots and beige trousers. She didn’t wear any of the silver plating the soldiers had. She looked quite smart. Brighid gave her a nod of approval as she finished adjusting her bootlaces and marched out of her room.

“There’s my girl,” said the emperor, catching sight of her as they left. Mòrag appeared as if she wanted to leave immediately, yet her uncle pulled her into a hug. “Go show them what you’re made of.”

“Thanks, Uncle,” she muttered in his tight grasp.

To her surprise, the training camp for young cadets was nothing like she expected. It was quite a bit away from the palace, so it had none of the luxurious buildings and facilities she was used to. Worst of all, there was not another woman in sight. There were some female blades, of course, but Mòrag couldn’t exactly include them. Female blades were vastly different from female humans. The lucky things didn’t get painful periods, or hormones, or the horrors of puberty to go through. Mòrag was almost green with envy.

All in all, there were not as many drivers as there were normal soldiers, though they were still split up into two groups. Mòrag was sent with the drivers to another part of the grounds to battle blade on blade. She glanced around. Every other blade was a common one, but ranged from all elements. Since Mòrag had yet to test Brighid out properly, she hoped she would not be fighting against a blade of water. She would hate to lose in her first proper duel. 

The boys looked at her. Some with surprise, others with distain. It seemed like most of them didn’t know who she was. That was understandable, as she held nothing to identify her royalty status.

“Alright, I’ll be dividing you lot up into pairs. Each pair will duel each other using their blades. This is a practice session to show me what you’re capable of,” the training captain started.

Two other pairs went first. There was electric against ice, and ground against water. Mòrag began to sweat as she witnessed how easily some of them moved alongside their blades.

She was called up for the third round. Her opponent was a boy around her age, with another water blade. Perfect.

He guffawed at the sight of her. “What? Who let a girl in?”

“That does not matter,” snapped the captain. “Just get on with it.”

“As if this is going to be a  _ challenge _ .”

Mòrag bared her teeth in anger. Great, the only woman here and she was already being criticised for it. Was this what the Ardainian army consisted of? A bunch of misogynistic bullies who were only in it for the power trip? When she climbed her way to the top, Mòrag swore to herself she’d change that. There would be no such soldiers in  _ her  _ army.

She drew her whipswords. Brighid was behind her, already channeling her ether. It was so powerful, like a hypnotic rush that made her see stars. It was difficult not to get hung up in the moment, as the boy was already swinging at her with his lance. 

It was an automatic movement. Mòrag lashed the whipswords forward into an X shape. The boy’s lance bounced off them as if it was a gnat hitting a window. Before he had time to recover, Mòrag drew her swords into a wide arch that sent him flying. 

“The hell was that?” he spluttered, angrily getting back on his feet.

Mòrag didn’t answer, and she didn’t waste time. It all came so naturally to her. She allowed the sword to unfurl into a whip, Brighid’s sapphire flames engulfing it. Everyone leapt back as an array of fire encircled the area, trapping both her and her opponent inside. He looked around, panicked, but it was too late. One Hellfire later, and he was down. Even Mòrag was shocked at the sheer power of her blade. Obviously, her skill was lacking, yet if Brighid could cause such destruction at this level…

“Bravo,” said the captain, impressed. “I wouldn’t expect less from Mòrag Ladair, though.”

“Wait,  _ Ladair _ ?” the defeated boy squeaked. Ah, so he  _ did _ know who she was. She couldn’t resist a knowing smirk.  _ Be scared _ , she thought.  _ Be very afraid. _

She was no pawn in this game. She was a queen, and the queen would rise to victory at the end of it.

However, that was not to say Mòrag’s time in military training was easy.

While her status got some to back off, she had her fair share of men sneering and dismissing her abilities. They would snicker as she walked past, only flinching under Brighid’s sharp gaze. Mòrag had learned to ignore most of them by now but it still stung. The words of hate, the disapproval, the condescendance… it was doing a fine job of wearing her down. It didn’t matter how many of the thugs she beat in combat. She knocked each one of them unconscious, bathed them in Brighid’s fire and stamped out their remains only for them to turn around and say she was weak. It was hard to learn to only listen to her own voice. Easy in theory, but in practice, it was another matter. Brighid would often place a hand on her back after a hard day of training and tell her it would all be worth it by the end.

By 20, she was promoted to Special Inquisitor.

Four years of training had finally paid off. Mòrag tried to credit most of it to Brighid, but Brighid had said that her strength meant nothing without a good driver. She held her head high as she was given her new uniform, bowing to the emperor.

And while it was tragic when he suddenly passed along with his wife and Niall had been forced to take the throne at such a young age, Mòrag was confident. Her uncle might have joined her dearly departed father, but his advice to her would live on in her actions for as long as she survived. Niall never knew of her fondness of chess, always confused as to why Mòrag kept the black queen in her room instead of in the box. The bitterness from all of those years ago still resided, but she knew that as long as she remembered what she had learned that day, then she would be fine.

Mor Ardain would be fine. Niall would be fine.


	18. Memento of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uraya initiates a peace talk proposal which everyone must think about. Meanwhile, Mòrag finds some of her father's old belongings.

**** “Absolutely  _ no _ way.”

Zeke, Pandoria, Dromarch and Nia just  _ happened _ to overhear the shouting coming from the throne room. The group of four scrambled to eavesdrop, pinning themselves against the door. Nia had her ear pressed up against it.

“Well, what are they saying?” hissed Zeke.

“Y’know, maybe I’d be able to hear if you shut up,” Nia snapped back. She knew for sure Mòrag was in there as she had just raised her voice. There was a softer one which she presumed to be Niall. Then, there was the muttering of others, though since they were at the very end of the room, it was difficult to tell how many. She simply had to guess they were the royal advisors and they were in the midst of a disagreement.

What, exactly, she couldn’t tell. They had arrived too late to hear the beginning, only catching Mòrag’s last sentence.

“Zeke, you’re leaning on me. Get off.”

“But I want to listen!”

“I swear, shellhead, you’re going to push me over—”

Right as Zeke was about to retort, the door gave in. They had regrettably forgotten it swung inward instead of outward. With a crash, they fell into a heap on the red carpet, the door slamming loudly against the wall. Mòrag, Niall, and his advisors all turned their heads to the source of the commotion.

Mòrag became immediately annoyed. “What  _ exactly _ are you four doing? We are in the middle of a meeting, here.”

Zeke helped Pandoria get to her feet as Dromarch allowed Nia to use his body was support. Both of the blades (excluding Nia) hid their heads in embarrassment, and Nia placed her hands on her hips and looked to the side as she often did when in an uncomfortable situation. Zeke appeared as unapologetic as ever.

“We overheard your argument thing,” he said nonchalantly.

“You say that so freely,” Mòrag replied, anger evident in her tone. Niall then held up a hand to stop her from giving them a lecture.

“It’s alright. They would have to know at some point today, regardless. You four, feel free to come and join us.”

Always so polite. Zeke gave them a pleased grin and marched up the several steps where the throne rested. The advisors were a little startled that the emperor so openly invited guests to listen to their important discussion, though said nothing. Who could argue with the emperor if it were not a life threatening situation?

Niall was clutching onto a letter. He had taken it out of the envelope, which was resting on a nearby table. The letter was made of fine parchment and royal blue ink decorated it. Zeke took a peak at the bottom, which was sealed with a very familiar stamp. The seal of the Urayan royal family. Whether it was from Graull himself or from someone related, this letter was quite apparently a big deal. 

“Uraya have offered us an invitation to a peace talk at the Sevind Palace.”

“Whoa, hold on,” Nia spluttered before correcting herself. “I mean—Your Majesty—didn’t you just go to war? Why would Uraya offer that so soon?”

Niall cast his eyes down in confusion. “I… do not know. This letter is as ambiguous as their intentions.”

“Is it from Graull?”

“No, the ambassador. Eurica.”

Mòrag stiffened at the mention of the king’s blade. Nobody knew about their little scuffle back in the most recent battle. She hadn’t told anyone of her mentions of ‘peace’, not exactly believing what she had said. Then… the letter had arrived.

She had been shocked when she first laid eyes on it. Such delicate writing,  _ surely  _ not from the king. And, she was right. Eurica’s name was written at the bottom in loops of cursive. It was so beautifully illustrated that it was hard to believe she had done it by hand. Nevertheless, the talent showcased was not the matter of importance that Mòrag cared about. Each word became worse and worse as she read on, fingers trembling as she held onto it as tightly as possible without creasing it.

_ ‘Sire, _

_    His Majesty, Graull of the House of Selosia, invites His Majesty personally to a formal social gathering at Sevind Palace to discuss terms of peace with Uraya. If His Majesty is unable to attend, then one willing to speak for Mor Ardain is welcome instead. All matters of the recent war will be negotiated as well as possible peace treaties. _

_    Please have a secretary write back with your response. If no response is received, then the war shall continue. If His Majesty rejects the invitation, again, the war shall continue. _

_ Yours sincerely, _

_ Royal Ambassador of Uraya, Eurica’ _

So, it was basically ‘come to this event or else’ written in flowery language. Eurica could talk a good game, but Mòrag had been playing that game since birth. The more fancy the writing was, the more sinister intent was behind it. This social gathering was most definitely not going to be about peace. Not after all the time Graull spent constructing this horrendous war.

She waited patiently for the others to read it. Zeke handled the letter as if it were mere garbage, though the others took a little more care. The prince scoffed when they had finished.

“Sounds like a trap to me. Gotta agree with Mòrag on this one.”

“I concur,” said Dromarch. Both Nia and Pandoria nodded simultaneously. 

The emperor took the letter back from Pandoria and sighed heavily. He trudged over to the seating area and almost threw himself down on it, robe wrinkling under his weight. He didn’t even attempt to adjust his golden wreath that had slipped over his eyes.

“I know. I know it’s a trap, yet what do I do? I can’t ignore it, but I’m worried that if I  _ do _ go, they’ll use it as an attempt to assassinate me or whoever I send in my place.”

It was a thought that had all crossed their minds. As soon as Mòrag had found the ability to speak she had insisted that Niall not go. She wouldn’t allow it. If he went all the way into the den of the enemy then there was no way he would come out alive. Uraya had kept their old palace back on their titan, which was right at the edge of Neo-Uraya. It would take several hours by airship to get there from Alba Cavanich, so an escape route was impractical.

Funny how Mòrag was already thinking about escape routes when they haven’t even come to a decision. 

“Why don’t we go for you?” Zeke suggested. “I’m the prince of Tantal, right? They’ll listen to me, and I’m a damn good driver. Let them  _ try  _ to assassinate me.”

Niall chuckled and shook his head. “I thank you for offering, Zeke, but they will not adhere to a word of a non-Ardainian. It’s an old rule, yet one they stick by. If I am going to send someone, it will have to be a soldier, but I am not willing to put their lives at risk for me. They’ve been through enough.”

“Then send me.”

All eyes turned to Mòrag. She stood as straight as an arrow, hands clasped behind her back and her jaw tight. She couldn’t believe she had said that either. That party was a death trap. Nevertheless, she wasn’t willing to risk sending Niall seeing as he was the  _ emperor _ and only surviving pure Ardanach member. Mòrag was related, though she was not nearly as valuable. They needed an Ardainian with a silver tongue and sharp wit, thus making her the perfect option.

Niall was the first to speak, jolting up from his seat. “What? I can’t send  _ you _ ! You’re… you’re my sister! What if they killed you, Mòrag? What would I do then?”

Her throat clammed up for a moment. “Then you appoint a new Special Inquisitor. This is my job, Your Majesty. I put my life at risk all the time.”

She tried to give him what she hoped was a reassuring smile, but all that did was make Niall more upset. He let out an unflattering whine as he got to his feet and stood before her. The two cousins stared at each other. There was no hardness in Mòrag’s eyes, yet there was determination. They had little option but to attend this peace talk, otherwise they would remain at square one.

As Niall’s lip quivered, Mòrag dared to reach out a gloved hand and stroke the side of his face. Normally she would never share such a tender moment before her companions, although they almost seemed to fade into the background. For that split second, it was just him and her.

“You really want to risk that?” Nia’s voice came out softly.

Mòrag turned to her and nodded. “If that is what must be done. If we accept this invitation then I will form several strategies should things go south.”

“Let me just… let me think about it for a bit.” Niall wandered back to the sofa. “I’ll return with my decision by tomorrow. Stand by, Special Inquisitor.”

The group followed her out of the throne room, probing her with questions that Mòrag was reluctant to answer. Why she was doing it, what was she going to do if it went wrong, all of the expected. In truth, Mòrag didn’t know. It was difficult to plan in enemy territory, especially in a place like Neo-Uraya. They would not be able to hide airships for a quick getaway, and walking back would take weeks. One would have to endure marshes, swamplands, thick forests and that wasn’t even mentioning the swam of soldiers Graull would have stampeding around. If she ended up going, then there would be no sure way to tell what would happen. However, it was a risk she was willing to take if it meant saving her country.

Mòrag was only rid of the group pestering her when she ended up at a parlour. Inside sat her mother, idly reading a book. 

Zeke had bolted as soon as she began to lift her head. Mòrag knew her mother was a bit… eccentric, but Zeke always acted like he’d just buried a body when she was around. Then there was the matter of Rex giggling. She rolled her eyes.  _ Boys _ .

Nia, Dromarch and Pandoria weren’t big fans of Lady Svere either. They ducked out of view and slunk away to leave Mòrag to deal with her. Since her mother had seen her, she couldn’t just very well up and leave, as much as she wanted to. Lady Sverre patted the empty space next to her. She wasn’t wearing one of her outlandish dresses today, simply a long white skirt and blouse. The book she was reading, now placed cover-up on the table, looked like a romance novel. 

“Hello, darling,” Lady Sverre said in her overly sickly tone. Mòrag knew she didn’t hate her, though she was never convinced she was entirely genuine.

“Mother.”

“Well, speak up. How are you?”

Stressed? Worn down? Trying to get by without the will to live? Not exactly appropriate answers, but Mòrag longed to say them. She sighed and leaned back against the cool leather.

“We’ve received an invitation to a peace talk from Uraya. We were in the midst of discussing if we should attend.”

Lady Sverre excitedly jumped up and clapped her hands. “Ooh, a party! You absolutely  _ must _ go! I’ll pick out a nice dress for you.”

“It is not a _ party _ , it is a strategical meeting!”

“If it’s Urayans inviting you, then it will most definitely be a party. What’s not to like? Queen Raqura would throw the  _ best _ parties back when she was alive.”

_ Architect, give me strength _ , Mòrag thought as she dragged a hand down her face in despair. “Except it is not Raqura who is the reigning monarch, it is  _ Graull. _ ”

Imagine Graull throwing a party. For some reason, the image of a poorly decorated room sprung to mind, with awful banners and streamers. The food would probably be raw meat going by Graull’s sharp teeth and the constant smell of blood lingering over him. Mòrag shuddered violently. Back to reality, please.

Her mother hadn’t entirely grasped the situation, either. There was that doe-eyed look on her face, clearly stuck in the fantasy world of pretty dresses and fairytale banquets. Sometimes (more like often) Mòrag wished they weren’t related. The fact still shocked her. Of it were not for their appearances, she would have had her sent from the palace on day one.

“Well, on another note,” Lady Sverre drawled as she twirled around, “I happened to stumble across some of your father’s belongings. They’re being held in storage. I thought perhaps you might be interested in looking at them.”

_ That _ got her attention.

Mòrag perked up immediately. “Really?”

“Oh, yes. He has so many old swords. You’re into that barbaric nonsense, aren’t you?”

She wouldn’t go as far as to call it  _ barbaric _ , though Mòrag nodded anyway. Her mother smiled and gave a twirl of her hand. She didn’t need to say anything else for Mòrag to stand up and leave, making her way towards the main storage room of Hardhaigh.

“I’ll be up shortly, dear,” Lady Sverre called out.

“See you there,” Mòrag muttered, too busy thinking to actually realise what she was saying.

Mòrag remembered so little about her father.

She had been five when he had passed, after all, but she felt a slight twinge of guilt for forgetting. All she really recalled was that he was a good man and was always nearby. He was strong, and got along well with his brother. He hadn’t looked much like her, so it was obvious who the stronger genes belonged to. Yuck.

Still, if she could have a rummage through his old belongings, then that might cheer her up. Every day was a constant slog of ill news, and Uraya’s letter hadn’t helped.

As storage was located right on the highest floor, Mòrag was forced to take a very long elevator ride to get there. The palace didn’t have an attic and the top floor was dusty and unkept. There was no carpet, and cobwebs were forming rapidly along the ceiling. Piles of furniture from the original Hardhaigh lay strewn around like a child’s discarded toys, some in poor condition and others fairly presentable. There were chairs, desks, curtains and old clothes. Mòrag had to clamber her way over them, squinting in the poor light.

She now wished she’d asked her mother what exactly she was looking for. There were no swords in sight, so she assumed they were locked away in chests. Go figure. She ended up opening at least ten before she found one that might be what she was looking for.

There was the familiar glint of old metal. A pile of rusted swords sat heaped on top of each other. Obviously, since Eandraig was a driver, he didn’t actually use these swords in battle. Mòrag could vaguely remember them being hung up on a wall somewhere. She’d overheard him rambling about which sword was which and what they were meant for.

There were rapiers, broadswords and the occasional dagger. Some of them she even recognised. There was the big one with the red jewel on it. That had been her favourite, but her father had never let her get too close lest she hurt herself.

Next to that chest was another, smaller one. Most of his clothes had been discarded or passed on, though Mòrag found some medals. There were some that were still handed out now.

Maybe she would keep them. The swords needed some cleaning, but she imagined they’d look good hung up again. Her room needed more decoration, according to Brighid. 

Other than those, there was not much else of interest. There was a huge, chunky necklace of gold, surely for event purposes. Mòrag found a ring at the bottom of the box. It was far too large for any of her fingers, however, it was a nice piece of jewellery. Perhaps she would keep that, too. Have it refitted and wear it on her days off. 

_ Stop getting sentimental _ . She shook her head. She was getting carried away. It was no good to cling onto old mementos, even if the  _ were _ her father’s. She’d just keep the chests under her bed or something.

The last thing found, hiding in the corner, was a small leather book. Mòrag picked it up and blew the dust off the cover. Architect, this thing was  _ old _ . The paper was worn and yellow. She flipped it open to the first page and saw that it was a diary, going as far back as 30 years ago.

The Special Inquisitor sat down and crossed her legs. She was going to be here for a while.

Unfortunately, quite a lot of the earlier parts had been stained with tea or coffee and had faded. She was forced to skim through snippets of dialogue, ranging from ‘ _ my blade and I did this today _ ’ or ‘ _ I’m feeling positive about the upcoming training session _ ’. Boring stuff, technically, but Mòrag wanted to read all of it. These were thoughts not many people had seen, if not _ anybody _ had seen. Eandraig had never been that chatty. It was always Uncle doing most of the talking while he listened. She always liked that about him. 

Would he proud of her, now? Mòrag stopped reading to think about it. Of course he would. She might not be the empress, though she  _ was _ Special Inquisitor. Even he had not attained a rank that high in the military. If only he were alive to see for himself.

She should have asked the Architect about him when she had the chance.

There were some articles on his own mother pestering him to marry. Mòrag chuckled at how he complained of her constant nattering.

_ I wish I was the infertile one and not my brother. He’d only be too pleased to have a child. _

The diary detailed several parties that he had attended at around the same time. Mostly they only consisted of two or three sentences. He’d state what date it was, why he was there, and then would wrap up the entry by stating how much he loathed it. Well, she definitely got her hatred of social events from  _ him _ . She could almost see the hatred in his writing, how the ink dribbled down the page as he pressed the pen down too hard.

Then, she found the first entry that mentioned her mother. All of a sudden, Eandraig sounded a lot less formal.

_ I met a noblewoman tonight. She is part of the Sverre family. She was very pretty. Mother is already asking me to marry her, so no surprise there. I wish she’d leave me to my own affairs. _

Mòrag was reminded of the day she had met her own mother and she immediately asked about her marital status. Women in the family all seemed alike, it seemed.

There were some brief entries discussing their courtship. Dates to the park, or to a nice restaurant, and then finally there was an entry on Eandraig’s proposal. Mòrag found herself excited, but her heart fell as she read on.

_ I have finally proposed to Alice. I figured I would be happy, and yet all I feel is a sense of impending depression. She is a very lovely woman and I enjoy her company, but why do we have to marry so quickly? Can I not court her in my own time? Howbeit, as the brother of the emperor, it is my duty to sire the next heir to the throne. Sometimes, I wish, I was born to another family. _

He really hated being royal that much? Mòrag supposed she couldn't blame him. If she was pressured to marry and carry a child, she wouldn’t be happy either. She had never been fond of the idea of arranged marriages. Marriage was for love, not for duty. 

_ I am a married man now. Alice was beautiful in her dress. I look forward to many years with her. _

It all seemed so sweet and genuine. Eandraig had really tried to make it all work despite having different wishes. He remained in the military, but Mòrag remembered he had often been with her. He must have had to cut his working hours in half for her. What a generous man.

Eventually, the entries became shorter. In the midst of her mother’s pregnancy, they were blunt and dismissive, even though he was writing to only himself.

_ We keep arguing over names. I want something nice. This woman is so insufferable sometimes. _

_ I’ve decided on Mòrag. It is the name of an ancient knight of Mor Ardain. _

_ Eight months gone, one left to go. At this point I just want this all over with. Over time I have realised Alice and I are not compatible with each other. She has long made it clear she only married me for my status. While I know it is far too late, I regret marrying her. _

Mòrag had to put the book down for a moment. Had he really felt that way? She suddenly felt like a massive burden. Her father had been so kind and compassionate towards her that she had no clue he regretted marrying her mother. He had harboured that resentment through the next remaining five years of his life. She knew it wasn’t her fault, but the guilt ate away at her. How could her mother do such a thing to him?

The next entry was, thankfully, a much nicer one. Mòrag felt a lot of the sadness disappear at how heartfelt Eandraig sounded as he detailed her birth.

_ Mòrag is here at last. She has made everything worth it. I don’t regret anything anymore. _

That was… good to know. Her heart warmed. After that, there was not much else, only scraps of his day to day life with her as a baby. It seemed at that point he had forgotten about his diary. He briefly mentioned his divorce yet said nothing more about it after that. Sometimes he’d talk about his training, but the entries were so far and few between that they ended up becoming very disconnected.

The last one was the worst. Mòrag felt a lump in her throat that wouldn’t go away when she settled her eyes on the final entry.

_ I have a big expedition coming up. I know Mòrag will be upset that I’m leaving, but I’m planning on bringing something back for her. She likes toy knights! Her name ended up being very fitting in the end. She is the most valuable thing in my life. _

That was probably her clearest memory of him. Her father had said he was leaving for a day or two and then never came back. Mòrag remembered the painful moment that she had absorbed the meaning of death. It was a horrible, dark, gut wrenching feeling that haunted her to this day. Death took so much and gave nothing in return. It took her father, it had come dangerously close to taking her brother, and now, at every corner, it was close to taking her.

The damned party was another one of death’s calls. She had heard the awful ‘sound’ so many times it no longer scared her like it used to, though it always sent that piercing pang of doom through her chest. What would happen afterwards, and where would she go?

She placed the diary down when she heard footsteps. Slamming the chest shut, she got up, but saw that it was only her mother.

“Ugh, the cobwebs in here are vile,” she spat, waving some out of her way. “Well? Did you find them?”

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

Mòrag felt anger flare up in her. This woman had married her father for status. No wonder she accepted the marriage proposal so readily despite not actually being forced into it. How could she do this to him? And to  _ her _ ?

Lady Sverre raised a brow, uncertain of her daughter’s furious expression. “Mòrag?”

“You only married my father because he was a prince!”

“And where is _ this _ coming from?” Mòrag held up the diary after fishing it back out from the box. Lady Sverred peered at it, clearly not recognising it for what it was until Mòrag gestured to the dates and the entries. Her face turned pale. “You’re telling me he had a bloody  _ diary  _ this entire time?”

Dropping her arm, Mòrag fixed her gaze to the floor. “Did you ever care about me? Or was I just a trophy to you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous! You were brought into this world with love!” Lady Sverre protested. Mòrag cringed outwardly. She didn’t need a mental image of  _ that _ .

As she was about to leave, clutching the box to her body, her mother held out a hand and gripped her upper arm. She sighed and peered at the pile of chests her ex-husband had left behind so many years ago.

“Look, Mòrag, I understand you’re upset. Mor Ardain lost a good man that day. I’m sorry we divorced when you were so young and that I wasn’t there for you, but be assured that I  _ do _ love you. You’re my daughter, as well.”

The usual honey that Lady Sverre injected into her words was not present. Mòrag stared at her for a long time. There was genuine sympathy in her eyes, along with what could have been regret. Mòrag wasn’t upset about the divorce. Shit happened. She was thankful that it ended so peacefully rather than a violent battle over custody, as many cases went these days. Parents didn’t always love each other. 

She was upset that her mother had left when she needed a parent. However, Rex had been so kind as to find her for her now, and that’s all she could be grateful for.

Mòrag smiled softly. Her mother returned it and released her arm.

“Thank you, mother, and thanks for telling me about da’s belongings. I’ll probably keep them.”

“You should hang the swords up on your bedroom wall. It  _ does _ need a bit of decorating.”

“How do you know what my room looks like?”

Her mother tutted. “I found it when you were out. Your blade showed up, and we had a discussion on how you never keep any decorations. Come, now, a bedroom is not personal unless it has personal items in it.”

Well, Mòrag didn’t know how she felt about her mother snooping through her room, although she let it slide this time. At least she got along with Brighid considering everyone else hated her.

They ended up leaving together, but as Mòrag made for her room to put the box down somewhere, she found that her thoughts drifted back to the party.

What would her brother decide?

She wanted to go. These sort of events were part of the job. Really, a party was no more dangerous than a battlefield, and if she had Brighid, then surely no idiot would dare attack her. Even if the peace talks were a bluff, then she would use the opportunity to find out some information. 

Uraya were making a mistake with this. No matter what they had planned, she would overthrow it.

After saying goodbye to her mother and setting the box down next to her bed, she turned to leave again though froze as she saw someone hovering by the doorway.

Niall, small and out of place, wrung his hands together. What was he doing all the way up here? His quarters were at the other end of the palace. Mòrag rushed to the door and bowed her head. 

“Majesty?”

“Mòrag,” he said quietly. “I, um… wanted to come and tell you the news myself, but I couldn’t find you anywhere.

“My deepest apologies. I was with my mother.”

The emperor beamed for a moment. “Oh, that’s nice. Well, I just wanted to let you know… if you really want to attend the peace talks, you can.”


	19. Wretched Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While attending the party in Uraya, Mòrag and Eurica share a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blame dragon age for this

 With the terms of the party set and Alba Cavanich far behind her, Mòrag prepared herself for the big night.

Nobody had been entirely pleased with the situation. When they wrote back and received the conditions from Uraya, the theory that it was a trap became more and more evident. For starters, no blades were permitted. She was allowed human bodyguards, but nothing else. Alongside that, she could bring no more than two and was not allowed extra guests. 

The perfect way to get her alone. Not that Mòrag was too worried. She had a hidden dagger stashed inside her uniform pocket. For the entire ride to Uraya, she had kept a tight grip on it. 

Leaving in the morning, Mòrag and her accompanying footsoldiers arrived at Neo-Uraya in the late afternoon. The weather was cool and humid, and they had been directed straight to their hotel to get ready for the party at eight. Pleasantries had been short and she was not greeted with kind words. Why would she be treated any different? Perhaps, if they were not at war, then she would be welcomed with the respect a Special Inquisitor deserved, but that was no longer the case. She held her head up high as soldiers and citizens alike glared at her.

Her hotel was nice enough, she supposed. Mòrag sat in front of the vanity and combed her hair.

“Sweet Architect,” she muttered, “I can’t believe I’m _doing this_.”

When was the last time she had attended such an important social event? There was the meeting in Neo-Gormott, though that hadn’t been nearly as stressful. Not to mention she had the company of her brother and an entire platoon of soldiers, as well as all of her companions. Here, she was alone. No Brighid, no Zeke, no Nia, no Tora and no Rex.

The thought of a formal party made her shudder. In her case, the apple did not fall far from the tree. Mòrag had always hated them. The gaudy clothing and bitter champagne was pretentious, along with every word coming from a noble’s mouth being fake. It was a secret game to them. Every word, every _expression_ was a matter of life and death. If she frowned at the wrong person? If she asked a question in too blatant of a way, or appeared as if she didn’t know what she was saying? She would be made the laughing stock of the evening. There would be no chances to recover from such a social blunder. And, unfortunately, acting like a pompous rich woman was not Mòrag’s forte. She was blunt and to the point, loathing vague expressions and beating around the bush. She had to tell herself it was only one night. One night, and it would be over. Whether the war was ceased or not was another matter.

Glancing at the clock, Mòrag felt a bead of sweat down her neck when she saw it was creeping around to half seven. The peace talks didn’t officially begin until nine, yet she was expected an hour sooner. She peered down at the supplies before her. Her old enemy; makeup.

Her mother would have been _delighted_ . Mòrag scowled as she fumbled for the foundation. The last time she had worn actual makeup was when she was in her teens. The way it crusted over her face after a long day was infuriating—the clamminess of the powder, the way she was unable to rub her eyes without smearing everything— _yuck_. Sadly, being of such high rank, it was deemed mandatory in some causes and Urayan parties were no different. Their aristocracy was among the most stuck up in their known world.

The foundation that she dabbed on was cold. Mòrag grimaced and added as little as she dared. Just enough to hide any blemishes. Then on went the powder to set it, and then the highlights. She had always thought it was a pointless act to bring out one’s features unnaturally, but she heeded Brighid’s advice.

“Don’t forget to contour,” she had said. “The Urayans will notice everything—facial structure included.”

“If I had been born male, I wouldn’t be subjected to this,” Mòrag had huffed.

Brighid had then smiled sadly at her. “It’s a man’s world sometimes, Mòrag.”

Would caking her face in minerals make her more appealing to the king? No, Mòrag thought bitterly. No matter what she did, Graull would never see her as an equal. He had confirmed that the last time they had met. He had looked her up and down and deemed her inferior in a number of ways, from her gender to her traumatised reaction. No amount of makeup would fix that. For the evening, it would act merely as a mask, a mask to impress the Urayan nobility and no more.

The Special Inquisitor was now looking at a person she didn’t recognise. Her dolled-up reflection blinked back wordlessly. She hadn’t put on a lot, but to someone who never wore any, it _felt_ like a lot. The eyeshadow was a mere hint of smoky grey along with clear mascara. All of it was horrible, but she supposed it could have been worse. Her mother would have insisted on lipstick as well, probably.

She tied her hair up as usual. She considered leaving it down, though decided not to seeing as the palace would likely be warm. Aside from placing a hairpin in the shape of the Ardainian crest next to the tie, she left it alone.

Now, Mòrag would have preferred to wear her uniform, yet any sort of armour had been banned. Thus she had dug through her wardrobe and found one of her other formal outfits—a white suit adorned with the royal sash. She would not be caught dead in a dress. No amount of threats and complaining would be enough to convince her. Makeup was already pushing it, but a dress? Zeke’s words from the hot springs echoed in her mind.

 _‘Hey, Mòrag, how about next time you put on a skirt and some heels?_ ’

Ew. Not today, or any other day.

The clock’s hand was ticking menacingly closer to the start of a new hour. She chucked the wretched supplies into a drawer and stood up. It was now the time to adorn the same mask mentally.

Her soldiers were flabbergasted when she met up with them. They, too, were banned from wearing their usual Ardainian attire, so it was odd seeing them in formal wear. After catching sight of her glare, they snapped to attention and saluted.

“At your service, ma’am,” one said.

“Good. Be on your guard, gentlemen. We don’t know what to expect at this event.”

Sevind Palace was a short walk away. Able to skip the horrific amount of stairs via an elevator, Mòrag and her two soldiers marched without hesitation to the building’s front doors. There was a small courtyard fenced off by silver gates. Inside, many noblemen and women were gathered and chatting amongst themselves quietly. Mòrag took a deep breath of the crisp night air. She was already feeling hot and bothered.

Naturally, they all turned when the gates opened for her. Their reactions were mixed. Some looked at her in disdain, others in surprise, and others in admiration. She ignored them.

“Ah, Special Inquisitor,” came a silky voice. Mòrag turned to see Eurica glide to meet her, seemingly appearing from nowhere. She was wearing a far more luxurious dress than her regular clothing, her neck adorned by topaz crystals and a thin coronet upon her head. “We are so grateful that you could join us this evening.”

“Ambassador,” Mòrag bit off sharply. 

Eurica cleared her throat after placing her arms in front of her primly. “As you know, the formalities begin at nine, although you are welcome to mingle with the other guests until then.”

How _delightful_.

How badly Mòrag wanted to cut straight to the point, but she refrained. It took everything in her power not to frown. Keeping a neutral expression was painful, yet she also did not smile. Neutrality was key. As Eurica disappeared back into the crowds, Mòrag nodded to her soldiers and made a beeline for the entrance. If she could get away with hiding in a corner for the rest of the hour, then she damn well would.

Inside was actually… quite breathtaking. All three withheld a gasp as they were introduced to the enormous entryway of Sevind Palace, a mixture of teals, whites and golds spread out all around them. There was a stairway down and a chandelier the size of an airship hanging above. The tiled floor was polished so thoroughly they reflected the art painted on the ceiling perfectly. As Uraya had been able to keep their old titan, they were able to preserve centuries worth of art and culture. Hardhaigh paled in comparison to this architectural beauty.

The question was, what now? Mòrag peered around. There were not as many guests here as outside, so she assumed there would be more inside. Really, why Graull had to invite so many people was beyond her. Perhaps it was just an excuse to have a party. Yet, he didn’t exactly seem like the party type.

Beyond the entrance parlour was a grand ballroom. A place even more impressive than the rest of the building, a dance floor was built a story down and a balcony wrapped around the edge. There were one or two couples dancing but that was it. Most others were drinking to the side or perched at the top, watching the ones below. 

“A drink, Your Grace?”

Mòrag almost jumped out of her skin. To her left, a waiter was bowing politely as he held a tray in one hand. Glasses of what she assumed to be champagne were set upon it. 

She had not come to this party to drink. Mòrag was not a heavy drinker, only forcing down the occasional glass of wine to be polite, and she had planned to not touch anything while she was here in fear of poison or the risk of getting tipsy. However, what would the reaction be if she said no? Every other person in the room was drinking. She could already see nobles staring her down, judging her every move. Brighid had not said anything about this particular situation. So, Mòrag took a breath and did what she presumed was the right answer.

“...Yes, thank you.”

The glass was chilly in her clammy hands. The waiter bowed a second time as he offered a drink to the soldiers, who both accepted to adhere to their superior. Mòrag stared down at her drink. It was a light amber, frothing at the top. She didn’t even _like_ alcohol that much. Making herself raise it to her lips, she took the smallest of sips. It was decent enough—dry with a sweet aftertaste. However she was going to have to nurse this drink all night in fear of having another pushed into her hand.

Guiding her soldiers forth, she weaved her way through the crowds at the front of the room and headed for the dimmed area at the back where less guests had gathered. It was difficult to ignore the whispers around her, obnoxious nobles questioning her clothing choices, wondering who she was, and the snide remarks about being Ardainian. Keeping a straight face was the hardest part. How she wished she could throw her drink in some of their faces. 

“Is the king not here, ma’am?” one of her soldiers asked.

Mòrag glanced around in search of the aforementioned man. Surely she would have noticed his hulking frame by now, though all there was to see were his guests. 

“I assume he is in the strategy room,” Mòrag responded. In truth, she had no idea if he was even here. Niall had not come, so what if he had decided to send someone in his place too? The nerve of him.

She suddenly felt very awkward. She was in the Sevind Palace, the base of her enemy with a mere two soldiers to guard her and no blades. The only people that surrounded her were Urayan nobles who thought her less than a beast—an Ardainian warmonger with a thirst for blood. Despite that being the perfect description of Graull, it was no doubt what he had told his people. Let them think whatever. She would prove them wrong at the end of the day.

Nevertheless, there was still the matter of keeping herself occupied for the next hour. Mòrag was not a good speaker and did not want to risk damaging her already shredded reputation by striking up awkward small talk. But she couldn’t _only_ talk to her guards. They were just as bad at talking, if not more so, as her. Not to mention she was sure that would give the impression of being as antisocial as Graull made her out to be. Ugh, what could she _do_?

Sipping at her drink slowly, Mòrag remained rooted to the spot until she saw Eurica once again. The blade seemed to be the only one at the event, flitting between guests as easily as a bird through the air. She was in her element.

Mòrag clenched her fists. A sudden anger rushed through her, just as their other encounters had done to her. She was going to get some answers out of her _tonight_.

“You two, stay here,” she said to her soldiers. “I am going to speak to the Ambassador. If anything happens, notify me.”

She took off before either could question her. She clutched her glass so hard she thought it would shatter. Keeping that same neutral expression, she nodded to the occasional passerby until she caught up with her target. Eurica had drifted off onto an outside balcony. Good. They could be alone and finally have a nice _chat_.

The balcony was quite scenic. Ivy and purple flowers decorated the fence as it overlooked the Urayan scenery. Eurica stood out like a ghost among it all, a form of white and gold in all of those muddied shades. She had her backed turned.

“Eurica,” said Mòrag.

She whipped around. “Your Grace, what are you doing out here?”

“I thought we could spend some time getting to know each other.”

Mòrag’s tone was frosty. She stood next to the Ambassador, champagne glass returning to her lips as she gazed into her eyes. Eurica kept her expression cool and controlled, nothing in her body language giving away what she was really feeling.

“Oh?” Eurica purred. “Do I interest you more than the other guests?”

“Look, I want to get straight to business. There is something behind this social event, is there not? I would like you, as someone who knows this war is nonsensical, to _please_ be forward with me. Elysium’s fate rests upon it.”

Surprising even herself at her directness, Mòrag held her breath as she awaited the blade’s answer. Eurica stared at her for a long time. It was then, in that quiet moment, that Mòrag really got to notice what she looked like.

She was almost cat-like in stature. There were her long pointed ears, much like Pandoria’s, and two small fangs poked out as she smiled. She was wearing fur that crept down along the sharp dip of her dress’ neck line, and while her body was nowhere near as curvy as Brighid’s, she was just as tall. Such an elegant blade... in the hands of a monster. It was almost sad. Mòrag had convinced herself that Eurica had other intentions compared to her driver, so why was she going along with it? Why was she giving mixed signals?

Eventually, Eurica giggled into her hand. “You are quite forward, aren’t you, Your Grace? That kind of attitude will serve you no good in the court of Uraya.”

Mòrag placed her drink down on the balcony fence. “Please.”

“And how will you know I will tell the truth? What is stopping me from lying and sabotaging your chances of winning?”

“If you have Elysium’s safety at heart, then you won’t.”

“Then dance with me, Special Inquisitor.”

Blinking in surprise, Mòrag almost stepped back. “I’m sorry?”

“No one will be able to hear us on the dance floor,” Eurica replied. She twirled her hand delicately, a sly smile on her lips. “Perhaps I am willing to share some information that will benefit you. However, how I tell it is up to you to interpret.”

She thought for a moment. Dancing in front of hundreds of people wasn’t something that appealed to her, to be honest. Mòrag cringed when she remembered just how many were present at the party, dangling their arms over the banister to watch the couples spinning together below. There was also the fact that Eurica was an odd one. She was completely unreadable, one moment seemingly on their side, and the next, she was loyally serving her king. How could Mòrag trust her? The truth was, she couldn’t, and both of them knew it.

Nevertheless… if she _did_ have information, then she needed to hear it. 

“...Very well. Let us dance.”

Their footsteps echoed on the floor despite the buzzing sound of conversation. There were, as earlier, a handful of couples dancing, so there was plenty of room to take their places. Mòrag swallowed nervously, wondering if she had made a mistake in accepting, but it was too late. Everyone would had seen them.

Eurica took long strides and then stopped to face her dance partner. Mòrag was half a foot shorter than her, but she went to take the male role before Eurica shot out her arms and took her waist.

While she knew how to dance both parts, Mòrag strongly preferred to lead. It was easier, in her opinion. So the fact that Eurica had so suddenly snatched up her favoured role and was already taking the first steps, Mòrag had no choice besides to go along with it. An embarrassed blush dusted her cheeks as she noticed her guards above them, watching with wide eyes. _Fuck_ , this would be hard to explain. Good thing her friends weren’t here. Zeke would never let her live this one down.

“Well? What’s this information you have for me?” Mòrag began as they stepped to the side.

“I’ll start with saying that King Graull is not quite the man you imagine him to be.”

“You are saying he is not a raging psychopath?”

Eurica laughed, stepping lightly in a counterclockwise pattern. Mòrag found herself surprised by her speed. It was difficult to talk and dance at the same time, but she managed to keep up.

“No, this has nothing to do with his personality. You see, he is the youngest child of three. All fairly stubborn boys, their whole lives revolved on who was next in line for the Urayan throne.” She knew how that felt. Mòrag felt a pang of pain in her heart, recalling the recent memories of her father’s journal.  Continuing, Eurica twirled her around as if she weighed nothing. “Raqura was the only child of the previous monarch, their uncle, thus the three brothers remained very close as the next choice of ruler should Raqura have no children.”

Mòrag began to sweat when she noticed just how many people were now watching them. All the other dancers had moved off, leaving them as the only ones on the dance floor. How humiliating.

“So why did Graull become the king instead of his elder brothers?”

“They perished in battle. Both of them were drivers.”

Well, she supposed that made sense. Mòrag kept quiet as she concentrated on the steps. Eurica was doing a good job of leading. She had danced with women before, seeing as Mòrag preferred the male role, though it was so strange taking the other position. Maybe it simply looked better. Eurica was taller than her, after all. The blade swept her around the dance floor easily. Not roughly, but it was obvious she knew what she was doing. Her feet remained light and her twirls were graceful.

The Special Inquisitor decided to ask another question. “You must know of Raqura’s death. What happened? She seemed perfectly healthy before she died.”

Eurica hummed mostly to herself. “Ah, yes. Her symptoms were sudden. She baffled doctors by her health decline, but by the time they attempted to treat her, she had passed on. A tragedy, indeed.”

“And what were her symptoms?”

“Nothing too serious, at first. Headaches, muscle weakness, the occasional tremor.” Eurica spun Mòrag under her arm delicately. “It quickly became worse. She couldn’t sleep, she couldn’t see, and then she coughed up blood. After that, it was all over.”

How... horrible. 

“And they never figured out the cause?” Mòrag said, breath hitching as Eurica leaned close to her face.

“No, but _I_ did.”

She remained silent for a painful amount of time. Mòrag almost yelled in frustration as Eurica smirked, continuing to dance as if the world wasn’t ending all around her. Mòrag’s grip on her hands tightened yet she was powerless to fight back. Eurica was leading, and that’s how it was going to stay.

When she did finally speak, she dove forwards and held Mòrag in a dramatic dip. The sound of clapping echoed from above. The blade’s lips nearly touched her ear as she then whispered,

“Poison.”

The song ended. Eurica helped Mòrag back up to a standing position and bowed to the cheering crowd. While Mòrag would have been embarrassed at such applause, she could only stare at her in shock. What the hell did she mean by _poison_? She was saying the Urayan queen had poisoned herself? Was it an accident? 

No, Mòrag thought. There had to be more to it than that.

Before she could ask, however, Eurica had already left. In no time at all Mòrag found herself alone on the dance floor and quickly hurried back up to the balcony. The grand clock was minutes away from striking nine. Finally. She was done with the party nonsense and could get on with the real reason she was here. Dancing had been awkward enough, _especially_ with the enemy. Mòrag felt a burning sensation beneath her skin from the act. Hopefully the news would never spread beyond these walls.

The meeting room was held further up more staircases. Mòrag’s soldiers joined her later on, yet were forbidden from entering and were forced to wait outside. Eurica was nowhere in sight.

The Urayans on either side of the door gave her a sharp look, but allowed her inside.

“The meeting room is the one at the end of the hall,” the guard said gruffly, gesturing with his decorative spear. “Go straight there.”

She didn’t know why, but a bad feeling settled in her gut. Mòrag shivered as she was almost pushed inside, submerged in a dim light as soon as the doors shut. The hallway was illuminated by dying candles and her footsteps echoed loudly. A moment ago, she had been glad none of her blades were present to witness her dancing, though now, she wished she had them with her. She felt her breast pocket for her hidden knife. A cool blade pressed against her hand. 

Good. Still there.

Upon arriving at her destination, Mòrag looked around. There was nobody here.

In the room was a long, oak table. A plush carpet laid beneath it and the walls were decorated with art of the Urayan landscape. To her right stood statues of past monarchs. An impressive display, no doubt, but why was it empty?

This had to be the right room. All the other doors were locked. It was only until she heard whispering that she realised this was no peace talk. Surely, a trap, as they had expected from the start.

By the time she whirled around to race back out, the door had slammed shut, a figure holding it.

Mòrag cursed under her breath. It was a man dressed in dark evening wear, but she couldn’t make out his face until he stepped forwards.

“I can’t believe you fell for such an obvious trick.”

His voice was rough and gritty. Morag curled her upper lip up into a snarl. “Raghnall. You survived.”

The ex-commander was worse for wear. His raven hair was dishevelled, and it looked as if he hadn’t shaved in a few days. From how he positioned himself, the wounds she had inflicted on him had healed decently enough, but it seemed he hadn’t recovered entirely. He had no blade present with him.

He gave her a half-hearted sneer. “Who do you take me for?”

How typical that this pathetic excuse of a man had to live. Why did her soldiers have to die, and Raghnall able to crawl out of the pit of death to continue spreading chaos? Would the Architect allow this if he were alive?

She supposed he probably wouldn’t intervene.

“Why would you join Graull?” Mòrag snapped, adamant to get information out of him while he was here. “There is no way he would share his profits of the war with you equally. Surely you are smart enough to realise he will use you and throw you away.”

“Of course I know,” said Raghnall. Mòrag raised a brow in surprise, though said nothing. “However, you do not realise the potential the Reubaltaich have as a joined force. If we cannot have Mor Ardain by ourselves, then sharing it is the second best option.”

He was _mad_. 

“And this party?”

“A trap to lure you here. Of course, Niall was preferable, but nobody expected him to actually turn up. Thankfully, you’re valuable too.”

Mòrag took several steps backward. “You can’t keep me here,” she hissed, before she bumped into someone. Steaphan’s maniacal chuckle echoed through the room as he grabbed hold of her arms, locking her in a vice grip.

“Mòrag, long time no see. I like what you’ve done with your face.”

“Unhand me!”

The Special Inquisitor struggled as Raghnall moved to join them. He stood in front of her for a moment, tsking as he gave her a disapproving glare.

“You will make an excellent trophy for the king. Just imagine what he could do with the Flamebringer as a bargaining chip. I do wonder… _what_ will the emperor do in exchange for his dear sister?”

Had they planned all of these outcomes from the beginning? Well, it made sense. If they could get their hands on Niall, then that would be a better outcome for them, but she was another option, as valuable as Raghnall had said. Mòrag felt her heart thud in her chest when the answer to his rhetorical question popped into her mind.

Anything. Niall would do anything for her, just as she would do anything for him. He would throw his empire under the bus to save her if he had to.

“No,” she growled, thrashing in Steaphan’s grip. “No, you can’t—”

Stars exploded in her vision as Raghnall’s hand raised, clutching something like a club, and bringing it down on her her head. She could dimly hear Steaphan laughing as she slumped forwards, suddenly as heavy as a boulder. The stars dancing in her eyes faded when everything turned to black.


	20. Forlorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mòrag finds herself in a troubling situation.

**** Mòrag awoke to a blank ceiling.

Strange, she did not recall her room being painted such a stark colour. Her vision blurred as she struggled to focus, pupils expanding as they took in the shape of the cracks snaking across the plaster. Had she fallen asleep elsewhere? Surely she would remember such a room in the palace, but were there even any with white ceilings? Groaning, Mòrag moved to turn over before a splitting ache in her skull made her wince.

What in the world was that? Reluctantly reaching a hand upwards, she found out that her hair was loose and tangled. A small patch of dried blood flaked off on the pads of her fingers. She rubbed them together. How had she done that? A sparring injury? A mission gone wrong? Odd that she couldn’t remember anything. 

The bed was uncomfortable. It was small—smaller than a single, even. Wherever she was, she was not at home. Her hands grasped plastic-textured sheets and felt at the one being used as a cover. She shivered. She had been stripped of her outer jacket and was left freezing in her blouse and trousers, shoes and sash missing as well.

It was only until the memories of being at the Urayan palace came flooding back in a painful torrent. Mòrag gasped as she finally recalled being lured into a false meeting only to be met with Mor Ardain’s biggest traitors—Raghnall and Steaphan. She hadn’t even gotten the chance to fight them before the image of Raghnall’s arm flashed in her mind, signalling the end before she was knocked out. The bastard had actually hit her! What a dirty fucking trick, striking her down while she was bladeless in the lair of the enemy. Coward. It wasn’t necessarily a surprise, considering Raghnall was akin to a lurking Arachno. He would never put himself in danger if he could help it. Some leader he was, abandoning his cause to cower behind Graull.

So where was she now? Mòrag, after recovering from her onslaught of memories, took a look around the room.

It was a cell. While fairly spacious and tall, the walls and floor were made of a cold white metal. The only furniture was the bed she was currently sitting on and a bathroom built in the corner. At least she had the luxury of privacy. Directly opposite her was the door out. 

She didn’t know why she bothered getting up and testing it. It was locked. Made of thick steel, the door did not even shudder as she kicked it. There were no windows, so she had no idea of telling the time. Sulking, Mòrag clambered back to the bed as her head throbbed. She could hardly move without it hurting. It was probably concussion given her recent bad luck.

Going to that party had been stupid. Mòrag knew that, and yet, she had been stuck between a rock and a hard place. She could have not gone, and that wouldn’t have changed anything. But seeing as how she did go just to see if there was any sliver of information she could use, she had ended up in the hands of the enemy, with no clue as to where she was or if she was ever going to get out. Would they kill her? Would they torture her? Or both, the former being the one mercy they would give her? Would she be better off dead rather than at the mercy of the Urayans? 

She didn’t know. Mòrag huffed in frustration.

Having ending up lying motionless for an hour, she jumped when the door clicked open. Fuck, if it was Raghnall, then she’d—

“Ah, so sleeping beauty finally awakens.”

Mòrag flinched at the deep voice. Now she  _ wished _ it was Raghnall. Graull loomed in the doorway, body almost taking up the entire space. He had to duck an inch to get through it. Pressing herself against the wall, Mòrag bared her teeth in what she hoped was a threatening manner. 

The king laughed heartily at the sight. “Not happy to see me?”

“Where am I?” Mòrag snapped.

“Beneath the Sevind Palace, in the dungeons. Hope it’s comfortable enough for you.”

His sarcasm was unbearable. Well, at least he had the decency to tell her where she was. Not that it was a good answer. She had never left Uraya, and was further locked up inside its heart. How the hell was she to get out now?

“Really, I do apologise for not being able to attend the party, though a king is so terribly busy.” Graull clenched his armoured hand, gauntlet glinting in the dim light. Mòrag couldn’t help but notice the fine work that had gone into crafting his armour. Light engravings decorated the gold metal in intricate patterns, with expensive fur lining his collar. It wasn’t as bulky as the suit he had worn in their last meeting, but it was no less intimidating. “I’m surprised you even came. Weak  _ and _ stupid. How you were announced the Special Inquisitor of Mor Ardain, I’ll never know.”

Anger burned in her chest. She was not stupid, and was certainly not  _ weak _ . “ _ You’re _ the only one idiotic enough to start a war.”

“Is that so? You find war to be idiotic?”

She scoffed. “In your case, yes.”

A knowing smirk stretched across Graull’s mottled face. “And yet, here you are, a proud soldier. Your very existence provokes war. You have slaughtered so many of my troops. Believe me, Flamebringer, if you truly detested war as much as you say you do, then you would have had your emperor surrender to me long ago. Only a fool would fight against the strongest nation in the world.”

“Why would we  _ ever  _ bow to you?” 

Mòrag’s words were laced with venom. She tried her best to give Graull a glare that would haunt his dreams, though he did not falter. He merely smirked and took a step forwards.

“The weak naturally bend to the will of the strong. Fighting against it is futile. Our current position, for example. You are entirely at my mercy.”

As he came menacingly closer to the bed, Mòrag folded herself up, knees to her chest as she tried to get away from him. Fear was evident in her eyes. He was right, after all. She was weaponless, armourless, and trapped in a cell while he had everything she lacked. Strength, power, protection. She could only gasp when she hit the corner and Graull lashed out his arm to grab her chin in a bruising grip, forcing her to look at him.

The monster was unpleasant to see up close. Last time, she had been too disoriented to take in his facial features, but now she just looked at him in disgust. His signature Urayan scales patterned half of his face and neck, ugly scars covering the rest of his untouched skin. He was a brute in every way.

Graull’s mocking sneer sent a shiver down her spine. “Such a pathetic little girl, trying to get away from me. Scared? No, you must be  _ terrified _ .”

Mòrag attempted to wrangle her head loose by pushing against his arm but Graull only held on tighter. If he gripped any harder than he would surely break her jaw. Her teeth ached beneath the sensation of his fingers.

“Not exactly the strongest driver in Mor Ardain now, are you? I’ll tell you a little secret; the Reubaltaich joining me? It’s all a joke. You think I would let snivelling Ardainians into my country? I’ll be chewing them up and spitting them out once I’m done with them, don’t you worry. And when your emperor gives up his country to save you, I’ll have you watch me slit his throat. I’ll take my time in tearing him to pieces for your viewing pleasure.”

She whimpered. “No, don’t—”

“The king does as he pleases. Niall is no true ruler and deserves to be treated as such.”

Tears threatened to spill over her eyes as Mòrag tried to ignore Graull’s maniacal chuckle. “Why? Why are you doing this? Gaining power through fear is no way to rule!”

Graull gave her a feigned look of pity. “You think I just sit back and wait for power to come to me? I  _ take _ what I want, when I want it. That is where your emperor falls short. He merely waits and barks orders, whilst  _ I _ am a man of action.  _ I _ will change the laws of Elysium for the better. It needs to be ruled properly if it ever wants hope of becoming glorious.”

He threw her back harshly. Mòrag grunted when her back hit the wall and her headache throbbed ever harder. She remained still as Graull stood and turned, seemingly done taunting her for the moment. 

“Anyway, get cosy. You’ll be here for a while, Flamebringer.”

Left to her own devices, Mòrag curled in on herself.

* * *

 

“Where is my sister?!”

Niall’s cry echoed throughout the throne room. Mòrag’s bodyguards had returned after being thrown out of the Sevind Palace, forced to drag themselves all the way to the Neo-Urayan border. When none of them had reported back, Niall had sent out a platoon to search for them. The chances of them finding the disheveled and exhausted soldiers were low. They had clambered on board an awaiting ship, desperately trying to get their stories across.

Now, with everyone before the emperor, chaos was unleashed.

The soldiers had reported that Mòrag was taken into a strategy meeting room alone, and when she hadn’t come back out, they were threatened. Raghnall and Steaphan had also shown their faces and attempted to harm the soldiers before they got out of the palace. Not much else was known, but it was clear Mòrag was now in Uraya’s custody.

His advisors had tried to get him to calm down, yet Niall would not be consoled. He paced in front of his throne, nails bitten so furiously his fingers were tipped with red.

“They’ve taken her!” he wailed. “It’s all my fault! If only I hadn’t let her go, this wouldn’t have happened! I’m a fool! I should never have been made emperor!”

“Your Majesty, please—” an advisor begged uselessly.

“Who knows what they’re doing to her? What if they’ve hurt her? Oh, if anything were to happen to her I will never forgive myself. Royalty be damned, I don’t deserve to rule.”

Rex and his companions stood nearby, watching the scene unravel before them. It was a nightmare. It was early the next morning, but Niall had not slept a wink once he realised his sister was in peril. He had spent the last several hours crying to himself and darting around the throne room in a panic. Even though there was nothing anyone could do in the meantime, Niall was working himself into the ground. The teen would not stop to eat or drink. He wouldn’t listen to a thing anyone said. It was only until, finally, as he sobbed on his chair, that Rex took a step forward.

“Your Majesty, please, let us go after her. We’ll bring Mòrag back safely.”

The emperor grovelled and shook his head. “They’ll only end up killing you. They’ll expect you to come! Please, Rex, stay here. Don’t make things worse.”

He was about to try and convince Niall further before the doors slammed open.

Lady Sverre, in a frenzy, raced forward and grabbed Rex by the shoulders. There was panic in her eyes and her lips were twisted into an expression of fear. “Where is she?”

“W-what?” Rex spluttered as he tried to free himself.

“Mòrag! Why didn’t my daughter return? She should be home by now!”

Brilliant, another demented family member to add to the mix. Zeke cringed at Lady Sverre’s weeping, especially when she dove towards him instead and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He awkwardly patted her on the back in what he hoped was a gesture of comfort. If it wasn’t, then she didn’t comment. She clung onto him as the others quietly discussed the situation amongst themselves.

“I should have gone with her,” Rex murmured.

“But they said no guests were allowed,” said Nia.

“There was nothing you could have done, Rex,” said Dromarch.

The atmosphere was dull. It was strange without Mòrag around. It had only been a few hours, though knowing she was trapped in the hands of the enemy unnerved everyone to their core. They could be doing horrible things for her and they would be none the wiser.

Still, no matter how bad they thought they felt, Brighid was faring a whole lot worse.

The blade sat alone, head turned towards the window. She had been on edge ever since her driver left last night. She knew something was going to go wrong, and here they were. They were miles apart and there was nothing either of them could do. Sighing in frustration, she rubbed the palm of her hands against her eyelids to try and soothe her headache. Part of her now wished that her core was shared with Mòrag, just to have the comfort of knowing if she was in pain or not. Not that it would solve anything, but at least Brighid would be at least  _ aware _ .

Sitting here in Hardhaigh twiddling their thumbs was driving her insane. She was not one for rash decisions, yet every fibre in her body was screaming at her to get up and go, to go and rescue her driver.

She startled when she felt a warm hand on her arm. Pyra stood behind her, smiling softly.

“Everything alright, Brighid?”

“I’ll be fine,” the blade responded curtly. “It is Lady Mòrag I’m worried about.”

“She’ll be alright. Nothing can take her down. Mòrag’s the toughest out of all of us,” Pyra said as cheerfully as she could. Brighid gave her a weak smile though said nothing else. She knew Mòrag was tough, but Graull was a monster. Not to mention he had Raghnall and Steaphan on his side. They were perfectly capable of inflicting… terrible things upon her. Things Brighid did not want to even consider. She tried to shake the thoughts from her mind lest she break down crying in front of everyone. That would not do at all.

Another thing she was worried about was the fact Mòrag would have no access to her medication. Brighid had made sure she’d taken a slip with her, though obviously she wouldn’t be getting it now. The doctor had not mentioned what would happen if it were to be stopped abruptly. Would she be alright for a few days, or would the negative effects be instantaneous?

Not that she was concerned Mòrag would try something, but anyone under the influence of a chemical imbalance would be subject to irrational thought.

Brighid stood up when she heard the others begin to approach. Blinking away any worry that had hardened her face, she turned to them with her usual facade of calm.

“What are we gonna do in the meantime?” Nia muttered, arms folded.

“We can’t just… wait here,” Pandoria said.

“Tora worried about Mòrag,” said Tora.

This was all a huge mess. Unable to take the misery, Brighid excused herself. Making her way out of the palace, she tried to focus on the sound of her heels clicking against the stone. Anything to distract herself from this hell.

At all times she was able to sense her driver’s presence. Whether it was right next to her or at the other end of the palace, Mòrag was always _there_. The fact that she was gone, too far away to sense, was a foreign feeling that Brighid detested. What if they killed her? What would she do then? The realisation that she would revert to her core and forget everything that happened between them hit like a truck, and Brighid felt her knees weaken. She would have sank to the floor if it were not for the distant cry of a messenger.

It was a young man, face red from having running. He skidded before her, clutching an envelope in his hands. “Lady Brighid, word from the Urayan King,” he panted.

“What?” Brighid barked as she snatched it from his grip. Usually she would deliver it straight to the emperor, but her curiosity got the better of her.

It was written in far less elegant writing than the ambassador had used. Scrawled in splotchy dark ink was the personal handwriting of Graull himself.

_ ‘Niall Ardanach, _

_ The Flamebringer is within our possession. If you want her back alive, then you will hand over the entirety of Mor Ardain’s territory to Uraya. Surrendering peacefully is your best option. You have one week to contemplate your decision. _

_ Sincerely,  _

_ His Majesty, Graull of the House of Selosia’ _

The blade felt her throat tighten. 

How could this man do this?! She was unsure of what Niall would do, though there was a very high probability he would surrender his lands without question. She, of all people, understood that, but coming from a logical view, Mòrag’s life was not worth all of Mor Ardain. There were thousands of civilians within its borders than Graull would take great pleasure in slaughtering. 

The messenger looked on in astonishment as she fell to the floor, too unstable to keep standing. He attempted to help her get up, but Brighid knew her decision.

Clutching onto the letter, she knew they were going to have to save their Special Inquisitor before the week was up.

* * *

 

Mòrag cried out as she was thrown against the wall, wincing at the sound of her ribs cracking. There went another two.

Steaphan circled her like a beast, enjoying every moment of her torment. A healing blade stood nearby just in case he got too violent, though so far he had allowed her to suffer through every broken bone he had inflicted. So far, her left wrist had snapped along with six of her ribs, but Steaphan refused to cease his attacks. He wasn’t even using a weapon. Mòrag felt the force of his bare fists firsthand.

“Been waiting for this for so long,” he drawled, mostly to himself. So far, he had not drawn much blood, but Mòrag knew that was his intention.

She tried to get on her hands and knees, however her broken wrist stopped her. She slid to the floor in a pathetic heap.

“Rot in hell,” she seethed.

“Cute,” said Steaphan. He gave her a sharp kick in the side, “but futile. There’s nowhere for you to run, now. Why don’t you try fighting me, hm? Maybe you’ll have a chance of escape!”

Mòrag knew he was taunting her. There was no way she would have stood a chance against him even before he had attacked her. Now, she was as vulnerable as a child. More so, considering she couldn’t move one arm. She felt useless.

The son of a bitch had barged in later in the day, yanking her from the bed when she had been in the middle of dozing. He gave her no time to realise what was going on before the wind was knocked out of her. Steaphan had been relentless—punching and kicking wherever he could reach. Mòrag was surprised she hadn’t been knocked out from the sheer force of his assault. She bit down on her tongue as he launched his latest kick, having to spit out crimson saliva. It dribbled from her mouth as she tried not to choke on it.

“Well? Go on then, Special Inquisitor. Fight back.”

He cackled as he pulled her up and shoved her against the wall again. Mòrag hacked and coughed. Snarling, she used all of her strength to stand up, facing Steaphan directly before kneeing him in the groin.

He fell back with a yowl. It would have been amusing if she hadn’t been beaten within an inch of her life.

“Ugh—you  _ bitch _ !” he snarled, rolling on the floor.

“Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it.”

“I think you’re misunderstanding the situation here.” Steaphan took a moment to recover before lunging for her neck. Pinning her up with one hand, he gave her a wicked smile. Mòrag scrabbled at the fingers cutting off her air supply. “I’m the guard; you’re the prisoner. You should be grateful that we’re not throwing you to the Urayan garrison so they can have their way with you. Who knows, maybe I’ll try to convince Graull to change his mind. Getting fucked would definitely knock you down a peg.”

He grinned at the fear in her eyes. Giving a final push, he relished in the sound of her strangled choke before dropping her. The healer blade came forth at the snap of his fingers and got to work on healing the injuries he’d inflicted.

“Whatever, I’m bored. Don’t worry though, you can look forward to  _ plenty _ more visits from me.”

Mòrag let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding when he and his blade left the room. It was a lot better to sit around without having seven broken bones, so she heaved herself to her feet when she had recovered. The blade had healed anything internal but left the bruises and her bitten tongue.

What a bastard. Mòrag cursed him out loud as she clambered back to the bed. When she got out she would not rest until he was lodged on the end of her sword. For the moment, she had to hope things would not get worse. She shuddered at Steaphan’s graphic threat. Trying to forget about it, she gave her cell another once over.

No escape routes were available. There was a vent, yet it was too high up for her to reach. Not that she’d fit inside it. The walls were solid and since the floor was made of tile, she could not pry up any floorboards. It was designed to hold prisoners securely, and without her blade, Mòrag was just another person. Sighing, she wrung her head for any last ditch attempts she could try. Perhaps she could ram herself into the door? No, that would only give her bruises to deal with. Pretend to be ill and then pounce on the guard? More plausible, but it was risky considering she had no weapons. Not to mention if it was just Steaphan coming in then it was even more of a risk.

Mòrag turned her gaze downwards. How could she let this happen? That party was so obviously a trap and she had gone anyway! 

Before she could spiral into another tornado of depressive thoughts, her stomach groaned. Mòrag hunched her knees up to her chest and did her best to ignore it. She hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday afternoon, too afraid to try anything at the party in case it was poisoned. She was beginning to regret that decision.

Where were the guards? She had been in here for at least half a day, yet they had only given her water. It was good to have that, though Mòrag was feeling uncomfortable hungry. 

Hours ended up passing. Mòrag estimated it was around evening time, and her stomach wouldn’t shut up. There had still been no guards or anyone to deliver food, and she was beginning to wonder if they’d forgotten her. Could they do that? Just happen to forget about a prisoner they had worked so hard to capture?

She shivered. Starving to death was not a way she wanted to die.

Glancing up at the ceiling, Mòrag hummed to herself. An almost forgotten lullaby her father and then uncle had sung to her once. It didn’t do much to comfort her, but it was something.


	21. In Check

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plan to rescue the Special Inquisitor is set in motion.

****“Are you positive you wish to go through his procedure, Your Majesty?”

Graull mumbled from where he sat on his throne, fist holding his head up. Several doctors were standing before him, clipboards in hand and worriedly glancing at each other.

“This isn't failsafe,” one said. “There is a chance it may go badly wrong. What would we do in such a situation?”

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t considered that. Graull had spent many hours with the remains of the Indoline civilization, pouring over their notes and blueprints until he had fallen asleep at his desk. Not that he was an engineer of any sorts, but he had a knack for wrapping his head in a project for weeks. Uraya’s finest engineers, doctors and medical nurses had assisted him in his endeavours of his latest ambition. It was a shame Indol was no more, as retrieving their handiwork was beyond difficult. Especially considering the titan had crashed into the now non-existent cloud sea, leaving its corpse missing for good.

The good thing was they had prepared a machine necessary. Dubbing it the Core Splicer, it had been built upon what they had gathered in their research of cell fusion technology. Creating Flesh Eaters was still a vague topic, yet that was not what Graull was after, for he was no blade. 

Not yet, at least.

The Core Splicer, with its enormous laser that could cut through diamond, was in one of the engineering labs. Graull had wanted to get it done with as soon as possible, but the doctors had held him back. Yes, there was the risk of death, though he was confident. He wielded one of the strongest blades presently in Uraya and had taken down the famous Flamebringer without any issues. Dying was not something he was worried about. However, should something happen, then he had people to appoint as his heirs anyway.

“Yes,” he finally responded. He lifted his head up and put his arm back on the armrest. “I am certain. Make the preparations and warn Eurica of what is to come.”

Bowing, the doctors left the room. That left Graull alone with his advisor. He turned to the small man besides him.

“How is the Flamebringer doing?”

The advisor jumped. “Oh, she is holding up, sire. We have not fed her, at your request.”

Graull sneered. “Good.”

“May I ask how long you will withhold food from her, Your Majesty?”

“As long as is necessary. If Niall surrenders, I’ll kill her then. If not, I’ll see how long I can drag it out until I get bored. A prisoner of war is only so useful after a time, anyway.”

His advisor backed off after his question was answered. It wasn’t a very well thought out plan, but it worked for him. Originally, he had planned to allow the Flamebringer to starve to death (seeing as how it was the slowest death he could possibly inflict), but considering Niall only had a few more days to give him an answer, then she would just need to hold out until then to have her fate decided for her. The idea was to kill her brother before her and then end her life, though if Niall was stupid enough to resist, then Graull would play things by ear.

A pity humans needed so much sustenance to survive. He hummed as he slid back into his seat, thinking warmly of how this new project would go. Indeed, fighting with Eurica made him strong, but fighting with her cells directly in his body? He would be _unstoppable_.

* * *

 

“I’m telling you guys, we need to put this plan into action _now_!”

Upon the fourth day of the small timeframe Graull had given them, the gang had gathered in the strategy room for the upteenth time. Zeke’s angry voice carried throughout the hallways, startling Nia and Pandoria who were standing closest to him.

Laid before them was a map. They had gone over it a million times but had only just figured out where the Urayans would be posted. 

“We’re trying to be _prepared_ here, Zeke,” Nia snapped, stressed as much as he was. “No point in rushing in and dying in the process.”

“Let’s go over it one more time,” Rex said in exasperation.

The emperor did not know of this. He had forbidden them from attacking Uraya considering he was too scared of a full out attack. He had spent his days trying to negotiate with the Urayan ambassador, with no success. Graull had offered a deal and he was going to stick with it. If Niall did not hand over his lands in the next three days, Mòrag would be executed. It was a thought none of them wanted to think about, yet were forced to. They had so little time to act.

Rex had never found himself praying to the Architect more than now. He knew he was dead, though there was some hope his spirit lingered on—somewhere out there, he was listening. He had made their entire world, had he not? Despite Rex witnessing his dying body, he did not believe death was permanent. A physical body could die, even that of the Architect’s, yet a soul was eternal. If they reincarnated in the ever flowing ether stream, then so could he.

Maybe it was a false belief. Maybe it was completely ridiculous, but it was all Rex had to keep him going through this hell. 

Brighid was also not faring too well. They had done her best to comfort her, but she had spent her time pacing and worrying non stop. Rex didn’t think she’d slept more than ten hours in the past four days. Now, she sat at the end of the table, fingers digging into the wood. Her face was hardened into a frown of concentration as they went over their shoddy plan once more.

As they could not enter Neo-Uraya via ship, they would have to make the remainder of the distance between the border and Sevind Palace through another method. No doubt Mòrag was being held there. The trouble was, walking would take at least another two or so days. Thus they had sent word to Leftheria to beckon Azurda to them. He would be even faster than an airship, although he lost his breath easily due to his age and would be also an easy target. They would have to fly far above ground to keep out of sight and then drop down at the last second. Not that it wasn’t possible, but they would need to work fast.

If they somehow made that and got into the palace, then they would need to split up. Each driver would leave with three blades each and whoever found Mòrag first would get her to safety above all else. Not that Mòrag couldn’t handle herself, but she was the one Graull wanted, and who knew what kind of state she could be in?

Now it was just a matter of getting on the airship and waiting.

Luckily for them, Mor Ardain had plenty.

Sneaking out of the palace as such a large group wasn’t easy, yet most of the guards had been posted outside of Alba Cavanich. Not to mention anyone who had seen them did not dare question their intentions. The shipyard was massive and while most of the ships were too big for their purpose, they settled on a small one tucked right at the back. Similar to the one they had used whilst travelling to Neo-Gormott, in fact. They recalled good memories of meeting the Chancellor. If only he could help them now, but there was no time.

“So, uh, anyone know how to pilot a ship?”

“Not one of these,” Zeke murmured, looking the airship up and down. The titan it was strapped too seemed to be fast asleep. Its body heaved with heavy breaths, boat creaking beneath it.

While they had steered titan ships before, Ardainian airships were of a strange make. There were so many contraptions and extra parts that they would have no hope of figuring it out by tonight. Rex sweated as he looked at the many cannons, sails and armour that decorated it. They had no choice—they would need to find a pilot.

“Who the hell’s gonna know how to pilot this thing?” Nia spat, hands on her hips. 

“I mean, we haven’t got much of a choice!” Rex snapped.

“Tora see lit up room nearby,” the Nopon added. Everyone turned to look at him as he pointed one of his wings to his right. “See? Pilots may be in there!”

He was… right, actually. Not too far away as a staff room of sorts, lights visible through the curtains. Upon closer inspection, they found they were correct. ‘Pilot’s lounge’ was printed on the door. Perfect.

Zeke was the one to knock. It opened to reveal a room made entirely of wood, a table in the centre. A group of Ardainians glanced back at them, cards in hand with a huge pile of chips in the centre. They were playing poker. Well, at least not everyone was entirely worried about the war. The one to answer dropped into a hasty bow once he recognised the Tantal prince. “Oh, Your Highness! What brings you here, along with the Driver of the Aegis?”

“Kinda need your help.”

The man arched a brow.

In the next ten minutes they had forced their way on after convincing the pilot. Perhaps ‘convince’ was a nice word, rather Zeke threatened to pummel him for Mòrag’s sake. While the man was seemingly as worried as them, defying the emperor’s orders didn’t settle well and he reluctantly took his place in the cockpit. After asking forgiveness, he coaxed the titan awake with the roaring of an engine.

The ships passengers then scattered to mull about the situation. While most were still in the mood to talk, Brighid had retreated to a corner and kept to herself. Rex could still wield her. She was not going in driverless, but it was so strange without Mòrag by her side. Not that she doubted Rex for a moment, however.

Nia had found her at some point. “We’ll find her, Brighid, don’t you worry.”

“I hope so,” Brighid murmured. 

In truth, she was desperately worried. Not only did she want her driver to die, she was terrified of losing all of her memories. Surely she had felt the same way about all her other previous drivers, though Mòrag was currently the most valuable thing in her life. She would give her core to save her if that’s what it would take. Her heart broke at the thought.

They spent the remainder of the day waiting at the Neo-Mor Ardain border, sharpening their weapons and practicing their Arts.

Zeke was easily the most angry, slashing down every tree in his way in order to curb his fury. Pandoria had tried to get him to stop, to no avail. The prince had a habit of bottling his negative feelings up and was only now just releasing them. While he was worried about Mòrag, a very good companion he’d hate to lose, there was the fate of Mor Ardain and its surrounding provinces. Graull would no doubt attempt to dominate and subjugate anything he could, which would result in _disaster_. He was not a fair ruler. It didn’t take a genius to see that. Gnashing his teeth, Zeke stabbed his sword into the ground and slumped down.

“My prince?” Pandoria asked warily. Zeke threw a hand over his face and sighed.

“Sorry, Pandy. I know I should chill out but, _ugh_! It’s going to take me everything I have to not wring Graull’s neck the next time I see him.”

His blade placed a hand on his shoulder. “Once we get the Special Inquisitor back, everything will fall into place.”

She could sound quite wise when she wanted to. Smiling, Zeke placed his hand over hers. “Cheers, Pandy.”

On the other side of the camp, Rex was also faring badly. Overcome with worry, he had resigned himself to sitting down and not moving. Pyra sat at his side while Mythra paced in front of him, egging him on to get up and stop sulking.

“Pouting like that isn’t gonna help anyone,” she snapped. Not necessarily in a cruel way, but sometimes taking a jab at her driver was the only way to get him moving. Rex had slumped over, eyes glued to the floor.

Pyra held up a hand to stop her. “Mythra, leave him alone. He’s got a lot on his mind.”

The blonde blade rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, he’s not gonna get anywhere like this. You’d better get a grip when we get to the palace, Rex.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course I will!” Rex shouted. “I’m thinking! About what’s going to happen when this is all over. What we’re gonna do about Elysium. Is Graull gonna go after that, as well as Mor Ardain? It’s just so much to worry about.”

Feeling guilty at her driver’s reaction, Mythra abandoned her snark to give him a smile. prodding him wasn’t the best way to deal with his sour mood. Pyra held a warm expression as always as his blades knelt before him. Green core crystals glinted in the dull evening light as Rex looked upwards, eyelashes wet.

“No matter what happens, we will be by your side.”

The young driver couldn’t help but shed a tear. Pyra wrapped him into a hug as he began weeping, overwhelmed by their loyalty and the seriousness of the situation. Mythra hung back, clearly embarrassed, though she kept nearby. From a distance, Nia, Dromarch, Tora and Poppi watched on, curled up together in a pile. It was late and cold, and Dromarch and Poppi made for good heaters. As Rex cried and Zeke rambled, they had resigned themselves to keeping quiet until Azurda arrived. 

Nia was as miserable as the rest of them even if she wasn’t saying anything. Despite their rocky start, she had quite come to like Mòrag. While her stern demeanor and all work no play attitude got on her nerves on occasion, the thought of her dying so horribly was too much to bear. Nia had her legs folded up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. She had buried her head in her knees while pressing herself deeper into Dromarch’s fur.

“My lady, how are you faring?” his deep voice cut into her thoughts.

“I’m alright,” she replied. “Just holding in there. Waiting for it all to be over.”

“You must be tired.”

Nia yawned as if to confirm his theory. “A bit. Sure can’t wait to sleep soundly at night when that Urayan idiot is put in his place and we can all go home. I hope… it won’t be too much longer. What do you think, Tora?”

Silence. Nia glanced over to see the nopon had fallen asleep, curled up against Poppi. The artificial blade looked uncomfortable to lie on, but Tora hadn’t seemed to mind. She gave them a gentle wave, careful not to wake her driver.

The Gormotti chuckled to herself. Well, at least Tora was getting some sleep.

As she had been on the ship Brighid was sitting alone. This time, however, she had her head tilted up to gaze at the evening sky. It had dimmed to a deep red over the horizon, scattering amber light onto the clouds above it. It would be quite the sight if it weren’t such a miserable occasion.

She hadn’t wanted to talk much. Everyone knew she was upset, and that was fine. She had resigned herself to this temporary sadness until her driver was rescued. Until then, she would not rest. She couldn’t.

All she could do was sigh and pray that Mòrag forgave her for leaving her rescue so long.

Azurda ended up arriving an hour and a half later. By then, it was pitch black. That made things a bit easier.

“Rex, and everyone else. Good to see you!” the titan called as he landed with an enormous thud. His wings drooped, clearly exhausted. He had come a long way on such a short notice, after all. Rex raced forwards to greet his guardian, happy to see him after so many weeks. In fact, it had been months since they had all joined up together in Alba Cavanich. Had so much time really gone just like that? It felt so short and yet so long. A lifetime condensed into a mere minute.

“Heya, Gramps,” Rex said. “Thanks for coming, we owe ya big time.

Azura nodded his head, long neck dipping as he did so. “It is no bother. I am truly sorry to hear about this Urayan king and his ways. I shall do my best to get you there safely.”

Rex gave him a sad smile. “Yeah. Hopefully Mòrag’s alright.”

“She is the Flamebringer. There is no doubt she will be fine. I don’t doubt her for a second.”

They prayed that was the case.

Rex then turned to see if everyone had gathered. Alongside Pyra and Mythra he had brought Roc, and Zeke had Azami and Godfrey. Nia was accompanied by Wulfric and Finch, while Poppi had been upgraded to Poppi QTπ. Good, they were all prepared.

“You all ready, guys?”

“As we’ll ever be,” Zeke responded, sword slung over his shoulder.

“Don’t forget, we’re going to rescue Mòrag. Don’t try and fight anyone. We’ll have to wrap this war up another time—and it _will_ happen.”

“Just not tonight, yeah?” said Nia.

Rex nodded. “Yeah.”

Their titan transport spread his wings and took to the skies once they had clambered onto his back. The feeling was unfamiliar after so long, and for all of the rare blades, this was their first time flying like this. Finch clung onto Nia’s leg while Godfrey cried out in surprise. Once high up, Rex took a deep breath of the crisp night air. It felt good.

“How long to the Sevind Palace?” he heard Nia ask.

“About half an hour if we keep this pace up. Gramps will have to stop once for a break, though it won’t be too long!”

He was surprised Azurda was going so strong. He was far from death, but all of the recent happenings on their previous adventure had caught up to him. He was getting better, though at a slow pace. Reverting into that larval stage and back again had done a number on him. The titan refrained from complaining, however. Once he had caught wind of the bad news, he was just as concerned as them all. About Mòrag and about the fate of the world. It was a heavy atmosphere crushing them, yet the group made good work of not allowing it to squash them entirely. Even if they had come close.

Sevind Palace glowed in the night like a blue lantern. Uraya had not ceased to be gorgeous, with its glowing trees and water sources. Their titan was like a light in the darkness, a clear point made out compared to the rest of the murky marshlands that consisted of their new territory. 

Azurda made slow circles around Fonsa Myma.

“This is as far as I can take you,” he warned. “If I land much closer to the city, we will be spotted.”

“No prob, Gramps. Thanks a bunch for getting us here. Wait for us outside of the capital and we’ll meet you back there when we get Mòrag.”

Upon landing, the texture of Urayan soil beneath their feet was strange. It had been a very long time since any of them had come here. It was nice to see familiar scenery, reminding them of the time they first met Zeke (much to the prince’s dismay) and forming the Merc groups. It was amazing how many memories Uraya had packed away inside. Its scent was flowery, atmosphere humid and the temperature mild. It was a shame Graull had taken over and soiled it with his monstrous tendencies, staining its fertile earth with blood and decay. No matter, they all thought as Azurda clambered off to take cover. They would fix that. 

Turning to their leader, the group awaited Rex’s signal.

It was much like their storm on the Gormott mountains, the day Graull had announced war. Except now, Rex had taken Mòrag’s place as the leading driver.

“Alright, everyone. We’re gonna go in, get Mòrag, and come right back out. Try not to attract attention if you can help it.”

Zeke chortled. “Not exactly my forte, chum.”

“I know, but… this is for Mòrag’s sake. We’ve had our difficulties, but she’s helped us out in so many ways. She helped us fight Torna, joined us when we got to Leftheria, and took down Malos by our side. She’s more than just the Flamebringer, she’s our friend, and we’ve got to prove that to her tonight.” The gang quieted down, listening intently to Rex’s words. His voice trembled as he spoke yet he persisted. Brighid, especially, had to wipe away a stray tear at the sheer emotion he projected onto them. He was beyond brave. He finally threw his arm down and nodded. “Now, are we ready?”

He grinned at the chorus of agreements hurled his way.

* * *

 

Underneath the palace, tucked deep within its dungeons, Mòrag whimpered weakly. Time was going on and on and _on_. How long had it been now? Three days? Four? A week, even?

She was allowed water, yet there had still been no food. Her breath was beginning to taste sweet and fruity as her body went into ketosis in the desperate attempt to reserve fat.

The Special Inquisitor barely had the energy to stand anymore. Curled up either on the floor or on the bed, all she could think about was how her stomach coiled and contracted, practically screaming for nutrition. She did everything she could to distract herself—from counting from a million backwards, from writing stories in her head and recalling more pleasant memories that she had almost forgotten. It seemed delusion sharpened her mind in other places while it rotted away others.

She banged her head against the wall. In all of her life, she had never felt so _hungry_!

Despite her sanity-lacking thoughts, Mòrag knew she couldn’t stay here. Graull was going to torture her to death—whether by starvation or another cruel method. She _had_ to escape.

But how? She was so weak there was no way she could take _anyone_ out. Mòrag was completely defenseless during Steaphan’s last visit, barely fighting back as he bruised her. The only good thing about that was he quickly got bored and left her to her own devices. Honestly, she was beginning to think she preferred the pain compared to the agony in her abdomen. Being so vulnerable, Mòrag knew there was nothing she could do to fight her way out in her current state. A light breeze would be enough to knock her over. Never, _ever_ , had she been subjected to such physical misery.

Mòrag made the effort to stand on unsteady legs to make another futile lap around the cell. Searching for anything to get out, she went over the same old vent and same stark walls. The door remained in place, mocking her every time she looked at it. There was no way out.

She sank to her knees. She was unable to hold back a sob of frustration. It was too difficult to function, feeling violently nauseous from being so famished and delirious from being trapped for so long. She felt lost. Pathetic. Lonely.

All she wanted was to be with Brighid. To be with Niall. By the Architect, to be with _anyone_.

Heat pooled against her back as Mòrag pressed herself up against the wall. At least the cell had heating. It was a welcome feeling compared to what her stomach was going through, so she did her best to focus on that. Feeling her hand along the pipe, she sighed in content.

Hang on. The _pipe_. Eyes shooting open in realisation, Mòrag spun around as one final idea struck her. The heating pipe lead all the way around the room to a small radiator at the back. She crawled her way over to it and grabbed the shaft connected at the base. Upon wrenching it off after unscrewing some of the bolts, she thanked the fact it was old and hastily put together. She held the piece of piping within her hands, tightening her knuckles. It made a decent weapon.

And thus, she waited. Mòrag made camp next to the cell door, itching for the moment that the guard would step in and give her water.

 _This is for you, da_ , she bitterly thought. _Hope you’re with me._

… … 

…

Mòrag jerked forwards in surprise as she heard the echo of footsteps. 

Had she fallen asleep? 

Possibly, as the feeling of time blurred into one endless stretch of torture. She rubbed her eyes and pinned herself against the wall when the footsteps grew louder. She clenched the iron pipe ever tighter. Stomach screaming in her ears and her body trembling with fatigue, she pushed herself to stand strong. She couldn’t fail now, not when she had a chance.

She scrambled to the side when the door unlocked and swung open, almost hitting her. To her surprise, it was no guard, but Steaphan yet _again_ . The irritable carrot-haired rebel swaggered his way inside, clearly bored and looking for a one-sided fight. He came alone, no blades present. _Perfect_.

“Thought I’d give you one more visit before the end of the night,” he sang happily. He stopped suddenly when he saw that Mòrag was gone. “Hey, where are you? I swear to the Architect, Mòrag, if you’re hiding—”

She wasted no time in leaping forwards. Steaphan didn’t have a moment to let out a scream as she brought the pipe down on his head with all of her remaining strength. He crumpled to the floor, knocked out cold.

Mòrag spat on him as she climbed over his unconscious body. She licked the imaginary venom from her teeth as she hissed, “ _Fuck_ you.”

Good, that was that taken care of. Steaphan was not dead, though she was seriously tempted for a moment. The sight of his bashed in skull was appealing. Mòrag decided to lock the cell door behind her instead. See how _he_ liked it.

The dungeon hallways were eerily quiet. There were guards, and while Mòrag would have been able to slice through them easily, she had the disadvantage of having no blade. Stealth was going to have to be her main weapon now.

Tiptoeing down the corridors, she flinched at every sound and ducked behind every corner. It was hard—stomach groaning and head pounding—though she kept going.

Mòrag found herself at the entrance to the dungeon in a short amount of time, with one guard blocking her way. Fortunately, he wielded no blade and instead carried a lance. Now, that was an upgrade to the pipe she held. Mòrag kicked a pebble across the floor, scampering back to lie in wait. The idiot of a guard fell for it and trudged forwards to investigate the sound. Looks like he hadn’t been educated in assassin stories.

He went down in two hits. Mòrag would have liked to have done it in one, but her arms trembled with fatigue. She stole his spear and keys and unlocked the cell door.

The Special Inquisitor tensed her jaw. From this moment onwards, she would never be weak again.


	22. The Mad Queen's Rampage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mòrag desperately tries to find her way out of Sevind Palace as her friends search for her.

**** Awakened in the middle of the night, Eurica had been the first to witness Graull in his most vulnerable stage.

She blinked her bleary eyes to see him kneeling on the floor, hands wrapped around his body in pain. It was evident that awakening her had taken its toll on him, spluttering and gasping as he struggled to compose himself. When he looked up, Eurica flinched at the hardness in his eyes.

Yellow slits gazed at her hungrily. He then smirked, clambering to his feet and cackling.

“I’ve done it,” he roared. “I’ve awakened a blade! Now those  _ idiots _ won’t stand a chance.”

Who he was referring to remained unknown until Eurica learned more about him.

She discovered he was the youngest son of three. Overbearing parents deceased, they constantly squabbled over their positions. Princes, all of them, in fact. Eurica would normally be honoured to be the blade of such a man, but Graull was far from respectable. He was cruel, lazy and hungry for  _ something _ . There was always a hint of franticness on his face, widening his eyelids and deepening the creases along his mouth. While he had been fairly young when she met him, his constant anger made him age faster than he should have. 

Recalling one particular afternoon, Eurica watched as Graull threw a tantrum in his room. He paced back and forth after having his fill of knocking over furniture and punching walls. 

“It’s not fair! Why do they get to be the next heirs and I don’t? I deserve it! I would be a far better king than either of them! Eurica, do you not agree?”

She flinched and nodded. “Of course I agree, Your Highness.”

Everyone was scared of Graull. Eurica was the only one who learned not to be as the years went by. A lot of the time, he was all bark and no bite, although she was well aware of what he was capable of. Graull had something wrong with him. Whether it was a personality disorder or something worse, everybody knew it. A frightening mental condition a doctor could not do anything about. He did not acknowledge it and continued to act in his beastly ways.

When his brothers had passed on, both in the same battle, he had laughed so hard that Eurica had been forced to calm him down lest he upset others.

He had babbled about getting rid of them without having to actually do anything, praising the soldiers that had slaughtered him. How he spoke about his own flesh and blood was ghastly but the blade was powerless to say anything. She knew Graull was hesitant to hurt her, yet she knew he  _ could _ if he so wished. She had quickly learned the patterns of his outbursts, though she could never figure out why. Where did all of his excessive anger come from? It wasn’t as if he was raised badly, or went through any sort of significant trauma. He was royalty, after all. Perhaps not the son of the current monarch, though he was exceedingly well off. One could not ask for more in life besides him.

When Uraya merged with Elysium, and they suddenly had hundreds of acres of new land, Graull took that as a sign that his reign was near. They had all this land to rule, and he somehow believed he was the one to do it. He was never religious, but he did take his perceived 'signs' seriously.

Eurica knew that he wouldn’t necessarily become king, no matter how much he gloated about it. Raqura was no young maiden, but she wasn’t elderly. There had been whispers about her consideration to bear a child at some point, which, of course, Graull quickly caught on to.

His plan went unnoticed for a while. It was only until Eurica saw him disappear at night, hoarding a load of ingredients back with him. Giant Stag Beetles. Jet Snakes. Quadriga Darners. Abyss Heather. Sunset Clover. All seemingly random at first, before Eurica began to piece together the puzzle.

“Your Highness, might I inquire as to what you’re doing?” she asked one evening, watching over his shoulder as he squeezed the juice from the beetles with his bare fists. She grimaced.

“Oh, a little homemade cooking,” he replied simply. There was a steady smile on his face.

“This appears to be a potion of sorts.”

The Urayan’s smile morphed into a grin. “Indeed. A very effective potion, in fact.”

It smelled foul. Eurica had to stand away as it grew stronger the more ingredients Graull added. The liquid bubbled a deep black as he boiled it, regularly checking whatever recipe he had found. This was no healing potion. From where she stood, Eurica could not see what he was making, yet she had a bad feeling. 

When it was done, Graull added some to a small tube and bottled the rest. He discarded the jar in a drawer and set the vial down.

“You see, Eurica,” he whispered, “I don’t want to wait for my dear Aunt to have children. Why should I, when a perfectly capable heir is right here?”

“...Your Highness?”

Graull sneered as he stared at the black liquid before him. “This is a poison.”

“You are planning to poison the Queen?”

“Yes,” he replied, looking pleased with himself.

Eurica frowned. “You will get into a lot of trouble if you are caught.”

That much was certain, but Eurica wouldn’t dare rat him out. She was his blade. Not that she was fond of him, per se, though she viewed herself as a servant. Even if she couldn’t remember, it was a personality trait she had carried with her across her many lives. She went with the flow and never against it, always observing and never acting. She liked to watch. Life was very interesting when one stood still and paid attention to it. She did not approve of her driver poisoning the Queen of Uraya, however, she did not stop him. She assumed he slipped it into her evening tea.

Raqura ended up dying days after ingesting the horrid stuff.

It was why Graull had chosen that particular recipe. Eurica had read his notes later, disvoering that such a substance was banned across Alrest for its potency. How he acquired the recipe was unknown to her, but once Raqura passed on, he burned the pages and got rid of the remaining poison by dumping it into the Fonsa Myma waters. He had done an excellent job of mourning his deceased Aunt, sobbing at her funeral and gleefully snickering when everyone’s backs were turned. Truly, he was a monster, and yet he was crowned as the next monarch anyway. The Court hadn't wanted to. They just didn't have any other choice. 

She had said she would never tell anyone of his dirty deeds, so why had she gone and informed the Special Inquisitor? Standing in her room, Eurica smiled at the recent memory. 

Mòrag was a very respectable driver. In many ways she envied Brighid, as she was fortunate enough to blessed with such a kind, strong woman to stand at her side. It was not enjoyable to be dominated by Graull every moment of every day, and yet that is why Eurica chose to defy him so. Uraya was suffering under his rule. He taxed his citizens to feed his army, paying no attention to healthcare or education funds. All of their best food went to his loyalists and the weaker civilians paid the price. Eurica was not a being of action, but she felt for them. She did not like seeing others in pain.

For a long time, she didn't believe Mòrag could do anything, until time passed and she saw how determined she was. When they danced, Eurica was not blind to the force in her eyes, the drive to better her empire at the cost of her life. _T_ _ hat _ was something the blade could respect.

So she told her.

It wasn’t much of an answer, though she hoped it would be enough. The Special Inquisitor was a smart girl, yes? Surely she would figure it out. It was up to her to save the world again.

When the guards knocked, informing her of her driver’s decision, she turned and bowed her head.

* * *

 

Bashing in yet another skull, Mòrag blew out a breath as she dragged the body and shoved it behind a wall. 

All in all, she had to be thankful that the guards stationed inside Sevind Palace were not wearing the bulky helmets Urayan soldiers usually wore, but by the Architect, she was exhausted. Not eating for four days rendered her legs shaking and her body wracking with painful shudders. A vile nausea sat in the pit of her stomach—not making her want to eat, yet the pain of being so empty was enough to rival it. If only these guards carried some food.

The lower levels of the palace were deserted. Getting rid of the soldiers patrolling hadn’t been too difficult seeing as most were not drivers. A shame, considering Mòrag could do with the core crystals. 

She staggered along the dim hallway. Holding up a hand to the wall, she slid against it to catch her breath. The stolen spear clanged against the floor as she sank to her knees.  _ Fuck _ .

She didn’t think she’d ever gone a whole day without eating before. Why would she, when she had lived a comfortable life in Hardhaigh for so long? While she’d never been much of a big eater, she found herself wishing she appreciated what she had. What she’d give to be back in the dining hall, able to eat whatever she damn well pleased and ignoring her mother’s comments about ‘watching her figure’. Fuck her figure.

Mòrag shook her head. OK,  _ enough _ about food.

Finding herself in what seemed to be a parlour room, Mòrag took the opportunity to look for an exit. She would not have long before she was caught considering the pile of bodies left in her wake. She paced from room to room, frantically trying to find a door of sorts before ending up where she had began. Why was this place such a labyrinth?!

It wasn’t until she heard voices that she was sent into a true panic. Mòrag darted out of the parlour and hid behind the door. Guards were making their rounds, and these two were not ordinary guards. They were drivers.

If they saw her, it would be all over. Swallowing, Mòrag searched her mind for any smart ideas. She couldn’t fight them like this. Her only choices were to run, or keep hiding.

They would find her here. So she slid back out from the door and slipped into the shadows of the hallways. Good thing it was nighttime. She followed the small lamps on the other side of the wall, walking endlessly towards what she hoped was an exit. She’d jump out of the damn window if that’s what it took to get out of this place.

Needless to say, she was stunned when she entered a storage room.

A room packed to the brim with glowing core crystals.

Finally! Mòrag thanked her lucky stars at the find. While these blades would not be nearly as strong as Brighid, they were better than nothing. Mòrag plucked one stationed behind the higher rated labels and watched as it glowed within her palm. The familiar blue pulsed in comforting waves, reminding her of the days she, alongside Rex and the others, awakened many. The throb of power felt good as it ricocheted throughout her starved body, lighting up her veins and setting her heart on fire. What an exhilarating feeling.

The white face of a common blade peered back at her when it had done forming. It was nothing special, but it would do. It raced to catch her as she slumped forwards.

“I will try to explain later,” she began, wrapped tightly in its arms, “but we don’t have much time. We need to get out of this place. Please— _ help _ me.”

Her new blade gave her a look of pity. “I will do all that I can.”

The creaking of a door caused them both to snap their heads around to see the two driver guards from earlier, angrily blocking off their only exit.

“What the hell is going on here?” one snarled.

“That’s the Flamebringer!” another yelled, jabbing a finger in their direction. “How did she get out?”

Mòrag leapt to her feet. Wielding the greataxe the blade provided her, she did not give them a chance to retaliate as she brought the weapon down on them. Blood splattered across the walls. It was a sight Mòrag was long accustomed to though she supposed her hunger made her more squeamish than usual. After retching up nothing, she climbed over the dead guards and trudged on her way. She would have awakened more blades if she had the strength. For the moment, she did not risk it, taking the one common blade on her escape.

Sevind Palace acted as one giant maze. Mòrag found herself at the same corridors, marked with bodies and blood stains, struggling to keep her frustration to a minimum. She had no idea how many levels she had to climb, and how high the palace reached. She just needed to find an exit.

“Are you quite alright?” the common blade asked.

She sighed gruffly. “I will manage.”

“You look unwell, miss…?” The blade trailed off when it realised they had not introduced each other.

“Mòrag.”

“Mòrag, yes. What’s happened to you?”

“I’m just,” Mòrag panted, resting against a corner for a moment, “a bit hungry. I’ll be fine. Nothing I can’t handle.”

It seemed she jinxed herself as she slumped to her knees. Her blade cried out in shock as it raced to tend to her. There was nothing it could do. It appeared to be an attacking blade with the element of ice—not  _ quite _ her specialty. Still, she appreciated the fact it tried to check her for wounds. Perhaps she would keep this one at the palace when she returned.

_ If  _ she returned.

* * *

 

“How do we get in?”

The group stood outside of Sevind Palace, gazing up at its towering walls. It was made of two feet thick stone. They dared not risk using Poppi to smash open an entrance seeing as they needed to slip in and out as quietly as possible, leaving them with the option of finding a door or window.

That was one thing, but since the palace was built upon a hill, the only windows were way too high to reach.

“We’ve got to be missing something,” Rex murmured mostly to himself. They could spy guards patrolling around the balcony edges. Flying up with Poppi’s aid was also out of the question, seeing as the noise would be too much. It was beyond frustrating how any option they considered ended up as a dead end or impossible to go through with. With each passing second, Mòrag was at more risk of pain or even death. However, at least she was  _ here _ . Brighid could sense her presence. It was faint, and very low down, but it was there.

Brighid peered upwards. Normally, palaces would have many side entrances for servents to use without having to go through the main doors. She tapped into her Keen Eye ability to search for such an entrance—for her driver’s sake.

There were windows, though no apparent doors until she finally caught sight of a wooden square tucked away inside of a garden. 

“There,” she said suddenly. Everyone turned to her. “There’s a door low enough to access at this level.”

It was locked, but that’s where Pandoria came in. Zeke grinned as she unlocked it with ease, giving her a high five on her way back to him.

That was the easy part. Upon entering and making their way through the many supply rooms, they found themselves amongst a maze of corridors.

“Split up?” Zeke suggested.

“Good idea,” said Rex. “Zeke, come with me, and Nia go with Tora.”

Rex had considered wielding Nia, although they needed as many people searching as possible. It wasn’t ideal to split up, yet going two ways would be faster. He paired Nia up with the Nopon seeing as his sense of direction was awful. Well, it was none of their fortes, but Nia had the best chances of not getting lost. 

The young driver was also tempted to use Brighid but she appeared far too anxious. It was even worse than the time she had been separated from Mòrag in Morytha. There, Mòrag at least had the ability to defend herself with her other blades. Here, she was a prisoner. Neither wanted to think of how vulnerable she was.  Not to mention, her aura was far weaker than usual. Brighid frowned as the sense of distress grew with each step they took. Mòrag was good at keeping calm in such situations, although Brighid felt the stabbing feeling of frustration, exhaustion and hopelessness. She hoped they would find her alive in time.

“You good, Brighid?”

The blade snapped her head towards Rex. He’d asked her that at least ten times today, and while she gave him the usual answer, this time she sighed deeply.

“Not particularly.”

Rex smiled. “Not to worry. You just keep an eye out for her aura and we’ll follow it.”

Easier said that done. No matter where they turned, they would end up in a hallway that was similar to the last, or at a dead end. Even with Brighid leading the way, she became more and more unsure of herself. Mòrag’s presence was here, but it was distorted with all of the negative feelings she was experiencing. All Brighid could pinpoint was that she was somewhere beneath their feet, several stories down.

She shook her head in annoyance. “It’s no use. We’ll have to descend and see what we can find.”

It took them some time to find stairs, and they climbed a ways down before the essence grew stronger.

“Why is this place so big?” Zeke griped, hands feeling along the wall as the lights dimmed. “Half of it is empty!”

Much of Sevind held nothing besides cold, stony hallways. Zeke was beginning to regret wearing an eyepatch when it was already difficult to see five feet in front of them. Pyra and Mythra’s glowing outfits helped a tad, but not much. They all stumbled blindly, looking for a door or stairway that lead to what they hoped were the dungeons.

It was another half an hour of endless wandering before Brighid perked up. Mòrag’s presence was suddenly powerful.

“She’s nearby,” she whispered. Strange, as they had no encountered any guards. There had been a few suspicious stains, though due to the low light they had dismissed it as water or oil and moved on.

That was until Mythra was sent tripping over something, landing heavily with a thud and almost bringing Pandoria down with her.

“Watch it!” the lightning blade snapped.

“The hell?” Mythra said. “Dumb place to leave a bag.”

Rex’s eyes widened as he peered down at what exactly Mythra had tripped over. “Uh, I don’t think that’s a bag…”

A body. 

An Urayan soldier, folded in half with a massive gash in his chest. The scent of blood become overwhelming, a sickly, rusty scent that caused Brighid to recoil in disgust. While the soldier hadn’t been gored beyond what was necessary, the wound was a good few inches deep. Whoever had done this hadn’t been careful with how they landed their attack. 

They paused when they studied him closer. Why would anyone kill a guard within the palace? Unless…

“Has Mòrag already broken out?” said Pyra.

“Wouldn’t put it past her,” Zeke mused, a finger to his chin. “Can’t see why anyone else would kill a guard like this.”

Rex’s frown deepened. “Keep your eyes peeled, everyone. For Mòrag  _ or _ some deranged killer.”

Well, that made things scarier. The group walked on cautiously, eyes shifting at every shadow. It wouldn’t do to end up like that guard. Not when they had an important mission to carry out, for them and for Elysium. When ending up at a large corridor separated by two pathways, Rex scowled.

“That’s jolly vexing,” said Zeke.

“Which way do we go?”

“I suggest splitting up,” said Pandoria.

“What if we get lost?” said Mythra.

“Look—Brighid, you go with Zeke to keep the numbers even. I’ll be fine with just Pyra and Mythra.”

The fire blade paused in concern. “Are you positive?”

There was that signature grin again. The party only separated when Rex assured them he would be fine. While Pyra and Mythra were not like they were before, they were still formidable opponents. Especially now since Rex could switch between them more easily without wasting energy. 

Thus, he took the left and Zeke, Pandoria and Brighid took the right.

It was quiet. Too quiet, almost. The three refrained from making any remarks at the sight of more bodies. Most had been dragged behind bookcases or doors to remain hidden, but there were blood stains everywhere. Footsteps coated in the vile substance had been scattered around frantically, as if whoever had done this was running back and forth. Could this really be Mòrag? How had she inflicted such brutality if she had no blades with her?

Zeke held his breath when he heard the rustling of clothes. He held a hand up to the blades. “There’s someone here. Keep close.”

Whoever it was, they were hiding. The prince caught the sound of rapid breathing and the scrape of metal against the stone floor. 

He snarled. “Come out.”

What he expected was perhaps a guard or an intruder, not the sight of Mòrag leaping out from the doorway with a greataxe. Zeke yelped loudly as she swung it towards him, only stopping at the last moment. The blade of the axe was two inches from his throat when he saw it drop.

“Zeke?” 

Mòrag, dressed in a blouse caked with blood and dust and no shoes, stood in front of him with an expression of shock. He winced at the sight of her. Her hair was limp and greasy, her skin cracked and her body crumpled with pain. Her face had even hollowed out a tad, something Zeke tried to blame on his imagination. How had she gotten so thin in such a short amount of time?

“Mòrag!” he said upon recovering. “You look, uh... a bit skinny.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s all you have to say?”

There was a common blade at her side. That explained the greataxe, then. She must have awakened one of the guard’s cores or something. It then dawned on him that Mòrag really  _ had _ been the one to slaughter all of the soldiers they had come across. Not that he blamed her—she was merely doing what she had to to survive, but yikes. She could be brutal when she wanted to.

“Lady Mòrag!”

The Special Inquisitor turned to see Brighid run towards her, Pandoria close behind. She couldn’t help a smile breaking out on her face. Architect, it had been so  _ long _ .

“I’m so glad you found me,” she said breathlessly, her blade taking her in her arms. The feeling of Brighid’s internal heat felt so comforting compared to the chilly walls of Sevind. The embrace of warmth filled her with the hope she had almost lost during her captivity. Mòrag almost collapsed before them in relief.

“What have they done to you?” Brighid growled, temper directed at Graull rather than them. 

“We can talk about this on the way out,” Zeke interrupted. “We’ve gotta get out of here before we get caught.”

When Mòrag stumbled, Zeke was forced to hoist her up and have her lean on him for support. Whatever they had done to her, she was beyond weak. He could feel her trembling with fatigue.

Thankfully, Rex and his blades had not gotten too far. It seemed they had become lost as they were racing back and forth like lunatics when Zeke’s group found them. Rex skidded to a halt at the sight of Mòrag.

“You _ found _ her!” he shouted. Pyra shushed him. 

“I’ve gotten rid of most of the guards around here, but there might be more on the upper floors,” said Mòrag.

It turned out she was incorrect, the majority of the guards elsewhere or already dead by her hand. Not that they were complaining. The less guards, the easier their job was. It took some time to find their way back up again, especially since Mòrag could not run with the state she was in, though they eventually found themselves at the same wooden door they had come through.

Mòrag slumped into a chair as they took a break. Her head was pounding.

“When was the last time you ate?” Zeke asked.

“Not since I arrived.”

The prince faltered. “You’re telling me you haven’t eaten in  _ four days?! _ No wonder you’re so thin!”

So, it really had been four days after all. Brighid was even more concerned. She placed her gloved hand on her driver’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Lady Mòrag. We’re almost out.”

Having to wait for Nia and Tora seemed like a silly thing to do, considering they could be anywhere at this point. Sevind was at least twice as big as the old Hardhaigh. Rex took a peak outside and when deeming it safe, ushered the others out.

“Brighid, Zeke and Pandoria, make sure you get Mòrag to Azurda. I’ll go back and get Nia and Tora.”

“You brought Azurda?” Mòrag said. “Won’t he be seen in such a busy city?”

“He’s on the outskirts. Don’t worry about it. Just keep low and off the main streets.”

They were thankful Sevind was placed at the top of Fonsa Myma rather than at its heart. It made sneaking out around the back much easier, though there were plenty of streetlamps they had to be wary off. Brighid, keeping Mòrag steady on her feet, attempted to dim her fire as much as possible. They still stood out like beacons but there was not much anyone could do about that. Zeke pointed to the direction where Azurda was waiting, tucked away amongst the tall pine trees. The ocean was fairly close, as well. The smell of salt drifted faintly towards them. A shame they couldn’t enjoy it.

Mòrag was shivering. Even with Brighid’s fire, the early autumn air was beginning to chill considerably. It also didn’t help that she had no jacket or undershirt. She pulled her blouse tightly to her chest in the feeble attempt of heating up.

They had not gotten far from the palace before Pandoria skidded to a halt. Zeke almost crashed into her.

“What’s the big deal, Pandy?” he snapped in agitation. “We’ve got places to be!”

“No, that’s not it. There’s—”

The blurry glow of miasma came into view. There was a glint of a katana, sharp and silver in the half-moon rays. They didn’t need to see their face to know who it belonged to.

“Never thought I’d witness a successful escape so soon,” said Raghnall, his blade close behind him. He surveyed the group of five idly. He was also, regretfully, accompanied by a platoon of Urayan soldiers. Quite a few, but for someone like Zeke, it shouldn’t be much of a problem. 

The problem was somehow trying to defend Mòrag in her weakened state.

The Special Inquisitor grimaced when she saw the ex-commander. When they locked eyes, Raghnall sneered.

“So, did you get out of your cell by yourself, Flamebringer? Judging by your rampage around the palace, I assumed you had help. A shame; you might have had a chance to get further if you hadn’t left Steaphan alive, banging on the door like a madman. You’re too soft for your own good.”

Zeke drew his sword and slashed it in the air once as a warning. “I’m telling you lot, stay back. This is a war and I’m willing to break my no-kill streak to get past you.”

Raghnall cackled. “Finally grown some spine, have you, Tantal prince?”

“Enough of this.” Mòrag stepped forwards. She was hunched over, beyond exhausted, yet she was not made of glass. “Raghnall, step aside or suffer the consequences.”

“And what can  _ you _ do, hm? Why should I be scared of a woman half starved to death? You can barely wield your own blade!”

Oh, they’d have to see about that. Mòrag took one of her whipswords from Brighid’s hands. Brighid had been cautious about her using it considering her state, but she was more comfortable about sharing the power rather than leaving Mòrag to use all of it. If they used their full affinity, she would surely collapse, so Brighid kept the stream of ether flowing through her calm and steady. Powerful enough for an Art, though not powerful enough for one of their usual dramatic attacks. It was a good thing Zeke was present, otherwise they might not be able to get out of this one, even with Brighid as strong as she was.

Quick on his feet, Raghnall jumped back as Mòrag and Brighid readied their flames. Zeke chased after him and leapt right into the crowd of Urayan soldiers. Sword swinging wildly, a torrent of lightning struck out in an arch. 

Good, that was the soldiers distracted. As they piled on top of Zeke only to be blown back, Mòrag sharpened her eyes for any sight of Raghnall. As it was night, the element of darkness was in its prime. Brighid seemed to hear him, her head swivelling slowly as he circled around them. He was there.

Mòrag’s common blade stood back as they unleashed Hellfire to their left. There was a scream of surprise. 

“Even in this condition, you can manage an Art?” they heard Raghnall wheeze. For a moment, his blade scraped against the floor as he struggled to right himself. 

“You forget my position,” said Mòrag.

Half-starved as she may be, she was still the Flamebringer, and no lowly rebel commander would best her. Not again.

She went to incinerate him further before the sound of scampering feet distracted her.

“Ugh, not more of them!” Rex complained as he leapt into the fray. Nia and Tora bounded along and also drew their weapons. 

However, there was no need. Zeke had single handedly defeated every soldier thrown his way, and Mòrag had damaged Raghnall quite severely with just one strike. He talked a good game, but in the end he failed to put his money where his mouth was. He sank to his knees.

“You’re all  _ fools _ .”

“Ah, but who is the bigger fool? The one who kickstarted a war for no reason or the ones trying to stop it?” Zeke retorted smugly. It was evident Raghnall was still wounded from the previous battle. Mòrag had literally cut his back open, after all, and he couldn’t stay upright with his wounds reopening and being scorched with blue flames. This was the end for him.

Raghnall hung his head. “Be done with it, then.”

“You are pitiful,” said Mòrag as she raised her sword, prepared to deal the finishing blow.

She dropped it. Brighid caught her before she fell too, though they all knew they had overexerted themselves. 

“Forget him, we need to get out of here!” Nia called out as she pointed to more soldiers pouring out of the palace. 

Abandoning Raghnall to whatever fate had in store for him, the group sprinted down the streets and back into the forest they had parked in. At first, Mòrag was unsure about letting him live, but she didn’t doubt that Graull would punish him. He could deal a far more painful death than they could, anyway.

Azurda had been tucked away, tail wrapped around himself. His head raised once he caught sight of them. “Goodness, Mòrag. Are you alright?”

Did she really look that bad? Mòrag offered him a nod and waved her hand, dismissing his question. No, she was not alright, her head hurt and she was so hungry she felt like she was going to black out, but she was  _ alive _ . Brighid and Zeke helped her climb onto Azurda’s back and settled just behind his head, shielded from the wind and any forwards-hitting attacks. Rex and the others clambered on after them, though Nia was waving her hand wildly.

“Architect, hurry up! They’re going to catch us!”

The titan instructed them to hold on as he spread his wings. They made a racket as they brushed against the trees, but he took to the air in seconds. Just in time, seeing as a wave of soldiers had now penetrated the forest. It was too late for them as Azurda made a beeline for the ocean. While that was the wrong way, flying directly over the capital would be too dangerous. They would simply end up ramming straight into Uraya’s airships. The plan was to head to the ocean and circle around—a longer route, but a safe one.

Safe-ish. After coming back around from his large U-turn, Azurda quickly noticed that Uraya had began to dispatch their airships. Oh, well. It was only a matter of time.

“Don’t those bastards ever learn to give up?” Zeke growled. He sent an Overload Thunder Beam in their direction, managing to strike a fin of one airship, overall not doing too much damage. He scowled.

“Not easily, considering the atrocities I’ve heard about their king,” Azurda said.

“You have no idea, Gramps,” said Rex. He grabbed on to the thick green tufts of fur, glancing back to Mòrag.

She was leaning against Brighid. She was fading into a restless slumber. They needed to get her back to the safety of Alba Cavanich as soon as possible. They had considered stopping halfway, but seeing as the defences weren’t good enough outside of the capital, Azurda was going to have to make a final push to reach Hardhaigh. If he didn’t stop, then it would only take a couple of hours. Perhaps even less.

Azurda beat his wings relentlessly. The Urayan airships were far too slow to catch up with them, and Rex breathed a sigh of relief at their disappearing forms on the horizon.

“Good riddance!”

“Are they still following us?” Mòrag muttered tiredly.

Brighid’s grip on her tightened. “Yes, Mòrag. We’ll be back at the palace before you realise.”

Perhaps ‘soon’ could have come a bit earlier, but they sure enough arrived at Neo-Mor Ardain in just over an hour and a half. Alba Cavanich’s lights were bright and their walls well guarded. Azurda, while tired, did not stop until he crashed down right before the palace gates.

Niall was already there. Arguing with his advisors and Senators at the entrance, he whirled around to see the collapsed titan before them. Everyone was stunned.

“We’ve got her!” Rex hollered as he slid down the bone of Azurda’s wing.

“You have her?” Niall cried, stumbling forwards and shaking off the last advisor. “You have my sister?!”

How he’d come outside at such a time was a big coincidence, but Rex grinned as Mòrag was helped down. The Senators, soldiers and nobles alike gasped at her appearance. Niall stared with wide eyes at his sister’s limp hair, blood-stained clothes and skeletal figure. For a moment, he couldn’t believe it was her. Mòrag had never looked so terrible in her entire life.

“Mòrag!” he spluttered.

The Special Inquisitor turned to him, smiling weakly.

“Niall,” she murmured, reaching out a hand before promptly fainting.


	23. No Pressure, No Diamonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mòrag recovers. The group scheme, and Graull does something drastic.

****The smell of hospitals had never enacted pleasant feelings within her. Squeezing her eyes shut, Mòrag attempted to block out the dim light before the hunger pangs kicked in again.

She’d only been awake for around half an hour. She hadn’t let it show, instead allowing herself to enjoy lying on a decent bed rather than a cold floor. Strangely, she felt much better than she had done. The dizziness had mostly gone away and she no longer felt like she was on the verge of death. However, she was still starving. Mòrag groaned and threw an arm over her face.

All she could think about was how miserable she was. Her body ached from over-exertion. What had she done again? There were vague memories of a greataxe, blood spattering from its edge and the dying screams of soldiers. It was unclear. Such images had become common in recent times. Mòrag had never been one to enjoy violence, though she had hardened herself to it. She _had_ to—it was her job. Yet the recollection of ruby red on stone was enough to cause her to lurch forward. 

Mòrag slapped a hand to her mouth as she retched. She choked down the burning bile, a result of having nothing resting in her stomach for days. Something uncomfortable tugged on her arm. An IV drip. That explained why she didn’t feel horrendous.

A chair clattering to the ground made her snap her head to the side. A familiar blue shape had fallen to the floor in surprise and was now scrambling to get back up. Brighid, eyebrows pinching together and jaw tight—telltale signs of worry—raced to her side. 

“You’re awake!” she gasped. The blade gripped her hand. “Architect, you gave us all a heart attack. I thought you…”

Brighid cut herself off. Her lip quivered as she peered down at Mòrag’s thin form. Sheets covered her, and while Mòrag had never been more than petite, it didn’t take an expert to notice she had lost weight. It had only been four days but it had taken its toll on her. Brighid would have broken down crying if she hadn’t already wept through the night. She fought off a whimper as Mòrag clutched her hand, fingers weak and feeble.

“I’m fine.” Mòrag finally remembered everything. Her breakout. Her rampage through Sevind Palace, and running into her companions amongst all the havoc. How they had escaped unharmed was beyond her. After getting safely on board Azurda, Mòrag was too frail to take in much else. She had just been so hungry.

At the thought of that, she pulled her hand away. “Food. Brighid, I need something.”

Her blade jumped to attention,. “Oh, yes, of course.” Turning around, Mòrag watched eagerly as she brought over a tray. There was a glass of water and three meager slices of bread. What, she was starved for four (coming up to five) days and _this_ is all they give her?

Mòrag almost growled as she snatched the bread off the plate. It wasn’t anything special, but she ate it like a volff. 

“Slow down, or you’ll be sick!” Brighid cried as she stopped her from devouring the next piece.

“I’ll eat as fast as I please,” Mòrag snarled in response. However, Brighid had yanked the plate away and was holding it in the air. She shot her a glare.

“Lady Mòrag, I will not have you vomiting because you cannot control yourself. You must eat _slowly_.”

She handed her the glass of water only when Mòrag had settled back down. Scowling, she took a sip and then grimaced. It was far too sweet to be pure water.

“What is—”

“Glucose,” said Brighid quickly. “To help you through the refeeding process.”

Gross, although it made sense. Brighid gave her the plate back once she had drank about half of the cup. Mòrag, heading Brighid’s warning, ate as slowly as she was able. When she was allowed, she was going to eat as many quotelettas as she damn well wanted. It was obvious that Brighid noticed the determined glint in her eye and sighed. She dragged over her fallen chair and sat down on it, this time only a foot away from her driver’s bed.

She appeared to be tired. Had she been up all night? Mòrag watched her as she swallowed down the last of the precious food. It was unlike Brighid to have such dark circles under her eyes and her fiery hair to be dimmed with exhaustion. 

As they sat in silence, Mòrag placed the glass down and let out a breath.

“I’m sorry.”

Brighid twitched. “For what?”

“For going to that party. It was such an obvious trap and I still went. I’m apologising for all the trouble I’ve put you through. If it weren’t for me being an imbecile, then you wouldn’t have to cross into enemy territory and stage an entire escape—”

Mòrag jumped when Brighid stood up. The chair scraped against the floor, piercing her ears. Brighid had the corners of her mouth turned down and her fists were clenched.

“How could you say that?” she whispered. “How were we to know it was a trap? You went to that supposed peace talk to protect His Majesty. You went so _he_ didn’t have to. Imagine if he had gone instead. He would most certainly be dead. You _saved_ him, Mòrag. Don’t apologise for that.”

She… supposed that was correct. Graull had threatened to kill Niall in front of her when he had the chance, after all. Mòrag shook at the thought. Enough was enough. No one threatened her brother and got away with it. Once she recovered, she was going to march back to Sevind with the entire Ardainian army and take him down herself. He was a menace. He couldn’t be allowed to continue living if Elysium wanted to remain peaceful. It wasn’t just them that thought so, either. Mòrag had caught quick glimpses of the Urayans outside of her hotel in Fonsa Myma. They were thin and scared.

The two women remained like that for a while. Mòrag was half-glad she had eaten slowly, because as hungry as she was, it became nauseating. 

“Are you up for visitors? His Majesty and your mother are dying to see you.”

“Can I have a shower first?”

Brighid smiled. “Of course, Lady Mòrag. I’ll fetch the doctor.”

Once the doctor came in to give her the all clear and had removed the IV, Mòrag crawled from the bed and into the private bathroom across the corridor. Brighid kept a close eye in case she stumbled, but she felt significantly stronger now that sustenance was in her system once more.

She sat in the shower for a long time. Mòrag buried her head in her knees as she allowed the hot water to fall over her in a gentle torrent. Inhaling, she tried to imagine the past week’s stress to flow down the drain with it.

What an absolute _nightmare_. 

The hospital bed had been changed for her by the time she got out. While she could have done with more to eat, she had to follow a strict intake of fruit juices and glucose for the next several days. Food would be given in small quantities, yet she couldn’t have entire meals just yet. It was annoying, but understandable. Mòrag had unfortunately dealt with victims of starvation in the past. Of course, she had not went nearly as long as they had, and she was thankful for it. That was exactly why Graull infuriated her so. No one needed to go hungry in Elysium, and his ridiculous war would ruin everything.

To her surprise, Niall visited first. Mòrag tried to hide under the covers as her hair was still wet and she looked quite pitiful, though Niall snatched her wrist up before she could.

He wasn’t wearing his kingly robes. Not weighed down by the heavy fur, he appeared much smaller than usual. His lips were dry and his eyes wide and bloodshot from having being kept awake with worry. Mòrag felt so horrendously guilty for causing such pain that she avoided looking him in the eyes until he began to speak.

“Mòrag,” he breathed, voice low and cracking, “thank the Architect you’re alright.”

It was heartbreaking to watch him fist the sheets and lower his head onto them. Mòrag held his head in her lap as he trembled, no longer the stoic child monarch the empire viewed him as. Now, in this room, alone with only his sister, he was simply a child.

“I shouldn’t have let you go. I was a fool.”

She couldn’t bring herself to say anything. While that could partially be blamed on her fatigue, Mòrag had said the same things to Brighid only half an hour ago. She dared to bring a hand to his mop of hair. They hadn’t had such an intimate experience since they were mere children. From the moment Niall had been crowned, Mòrag had forbidden herself from becoming too sentimental. Of course, the recent war had chipped away at her stone walls, but it was only now that she allowed them to fall.

She had forgotten who the most important person in her life was. Due to all of her pushed down insecurities and trauma, she had forfeited everything that Niall meant to her in order to comply with her country’s rules.

The Emperor he may be, but he was her little brother first and foremost.

So for that moment, she held him, and he let himself be held.

Niall was sprawled half way on the bed by the time he lifted his head up. His cheeks had reddened and his eyes had gone puffy. He sniffed and tried to compose himself. It seemed he had the same problem as she did.

“I’m sorry. It’s just been so _difficult_ —especially without you around. How selfish I am to only worry about how I fare without you, when it was _you_ who suffered the most, dear sister. Forgive me.”

“Majest—” Mòrag began before stopping herself. “Niall. Let us try to not blame ourselves. The real culprit is Graull.”

The young monarch nodded tearfully. “You’re right. We cannot let him to cause such chaos any longer. I didn’t want to fight, but he is leaving me with no choice. He must be disposed of.”

“I shall do the honour—”

Niall pouted, his lower lip sticking out. “Absolutely not! You are to get two weeks of complete rest!”

Mòrag flinched in surprise at his raised tone. She normally would have chuckled at such an outburst, considering he wasn’t that intimidating as far as emperors went, though the worry in his eyes caused her to falter. 

“There is no need, Majesty. I’ll be fine after a day or so.”

“No,” Niall said adamantly. “I hate having to do this but, Mòrag, I royally command you to rest for the next fortnight and obey your doctor. That includes no sparring or training!”

How could she argue with an order? Mòrag sighed in defeat and nodded. “As you wish, sire.”

Once Niall was satisfied with her answer, he sat back on the chair Brighid had used and adopted a calmer attitude than he had before. He looked more like himself, sitting primly and straightening his back to seem taller. Mòrag couldn’t do much except lie there, concealing her form with the sheets so that she didn’t look so pitiful. 

It was lovely being able to speak with him again. It might have only been five days, but it had felt like five years. Mòrag was hesitant to speak of the more gruesome details of her torture, although she told as much as Niall asked for. His face fell as she mentioned being given no food for the entirety of it.

“The bastard,” he muttered. Mòrag raised an eyebrow. He’d never swore like that before.

She decided to laugh alongside him. “Indeed.”

After that point, the doctor politely informed Niall that Mòrag needed some time to recover. Thus the Emperor stood and bowed his head to her. 

“I want to thank you formally, Mòrag, for being so brave. No regular person would have been able to hold off against such brutality.”

He was flattering her, surely, yet he left before she could respond. Brighid was stationed outside her room as a guard and as company for when she woke up. In the meantime, she was given more glucose-filled water and a selection of fruit juices. There was also the occasional biscuit which she almost choked on in the need to get it down her. Once Mòrag was satisfied with the sweet liquid in her system, she decided to spend the hours sleeping. There was not much else she could do to ease her recovery along.

She dreamt of fire. 

A scorching, evil fire, nothing like the flames of her blade. Brighid’s fire was beautiful, but this fire was dark. Its embers shimmered in shades of black across a blood-soaked ground. Mòrag couldn’t see herself, but she could view the scene in front of her. A horrific battlefield littered with bodies and the fires of hell.

* * *

 

Mòrag only saw the others when she had spent another day hospitalised. Now on small meals, she was given permission to take her medication again. She did not resist seeing as she had felt woozy without it. Nia had tried to heal her, yet there was not much she could do about the effects of starvation besides repair what cells had been damaged. She had helped by healing the many bruises left on her, however. 

Her condition was not helped any further as her mother had pounced on her as soon as she was discharged, sobbing heavily and pulling her into a suffocating embrace.

“Oh, my poor baby,” Lady Sverre had wailed.

It was nice to see her, but Mòrag could do without the theatrics. She forced herself to return to embrace despite how her bones almost cracked.

“I’m alive and well, Mother.”

Lady Sverre dabbed her eyes with a silk handkerchief. “I told you this job isn’t right for you! Just look at what happened!”

Not that that would convince her to adopt a pretty princess attitude. Mòrag excused herself shortly afterwards to join her friends. Her mother protested, though it was easy to shake her off with Brighid’s insistence that she had important matters to attend to. With a quick kiss goodbye (mostly instituted by Lady Sverre), they wound up at the palace foyer.

“What do we do now?” Rex muttered glumly. It was hot—the room heated by a log fire lit by Brighid. She sat close to her driver to make sure she was kept warm. They’d had their reunion, kept short and sweet seeing as they were all exhausted. Even though Zeke had been healed of his injuries from the mass of Urayan guards swarming him the night before, he sat with his eyes half lidded.

While Mòrag couldn’t do any actual work, she could still strategise. She couldn’t sit idly while Graull was becoming more and more aggressive. She heard what he’d said loud and clear. He would kill Niall if he got his hands on him.

She couldn’t allow that to happen.

“Once I return to work, we are considering launching a full-scale attack on Fonsa Myma,” she said. Everyone turned to her. “Not necessarily on the city itself, but rather on the palace. I know Uraya’s citizens detest their king as much as we do.”

“How are we going to avoid civilian casualties?” Zeke said tiredly. “You’ve seen how many people have been killed already.”

That was true enough. Even though the war hadn’t been going on that long, many had died. Mòrag believed they had lost half of their original army. 

“Why don’t we get Uraya’s people to rally against Graull with us?” Nia proposed.

Zeke shrugged in dismissal. “They’ll just get speared by his guards.”

“Who’s to say some don’t support him? Urayans have always been stuck in their ways,” Pandoria cut in.

Rex added his input angrily, “Not anymore. This is Elysium, not Alrest. Only idiots would think he’s a good ruler! He’s causing all this mindless bloodshed for nothing.”

When they all began to argue over different strategies, Mòrag raised a hand. The group quieted and turned back to her. She had always been their main voice of reason, and that still applied even though times had changed drastically. In all honesty, Mòrag was beginning to think she preferred dealing with Malos and Torna. At least they were straightforward in their goals—destroy humanity. Graull was far less intelligent than them, surely, but he hid his agenda behind the industrial walls of politics. It didn’t matter how savage he became, he could always use the laws of the old to disguise himself.

 _That_ was why politics were often evil. Mòrag would forever be loyal to her country, yet even Mor Ardain was vulnerable to such antics. Adamant on sticking to outdated rules, that was how tyrants like Graull came to power.

“We will have to plan this in detail. It is obvious Graull has to go, but we must be careful not to inspire revolts. Pandoria has a point, after all.”

“Perhaps Mor Ardain should open their doors to Urayan refugees?” said Dromarch. “If we show that we harbour no grudge against the kingdom itself, then they might be more liable to assist us.”

“Not a bad idea,” said Zeke.

Mòrag considered it. “I shall advise His Majesty and the Senate.”

Groups would need to be sent out to search for such refugees, though it could be done. As Dromarch had said, it would give Graull less supporters. There was much Uraya owed to the Driver of the Aegis and his companions. While Graull might have forgotten all they done for them, it was certain that his people hadn’t. How long had they spent on the Urayan titan assisting with all that they could? By the end of their journey, they had visited there more often than any other titan landmass.

“What about Gormott?” Nia asked in the next break of the conversation.

“They remain our allies,” said Mòrag. “They will be notified of any strategies we put forward.”

Many things could have occured during the five days she had been out of commission, but nobody had said anything concerning. It was safe to assume their allyship was stable. Chancellor Llewellyn wanted Graull off the Urayan throne just as much as they did.

“Guess we can’t really do much until Mòrag recovers and the Emperor makes a decision.” Rex huffed and folded his arms. 

It was dreary, but Rex was right. Mòrag felt pretty useless, although she gave credit to herself for being on the road to recovery. She still wouldn’t be much help in a battle, and she couldn’t disobey Niall’s direct orders to rest. 

It was just a shame they did not have any clear evidence of any treachery Graull might be behind. If they could find some legal reason why he could not be king, dethroning him would be easy.

Mòrag thought back to her dance with Eurica. They had spoken briefly about his ascension, had they not? How he had two older brothers, though they had perished in battle. The rest of the conversation was about Queen Raqura’s death, and Eurica had been so vague about the details when the dance ended that she had been left perplexed. How vexing.

What was it again? Poison?

_Poison._

“Wait a moment!” Mòrag suddenly yelled, leaping to her feet. Tora was so surprised he almost fell off the sofa with a small yelp.

“You made me jump out of my skin!” Nia snapped.

“Poison! Raqura died of poison! How likely is that to happen in case of an accident?”

“Slow down,” Zeke instructed, raising his hands. “What _are_ you talking about?”

“Back at the party, I, er..." Mòrag cut herself off to flush bright scarlet, "danced with Graull’s blade.”

Grins began to form on everyone’s faces. 

“You danced with the Ambassador of Uraya?” Rex said, smirking.

Zeke snorted in laughter. "Nice one!"

Mòrag turned away in embarrassment. She moved her hand to rub the back of her neck. “Don't get the wrong idea! It was only to get privacy to have a conversation. It was too easy for others to eavesdrop anywhere else in the palace. She told me of Raqura’s death, that the reason she died was because she was poisoned.”

“Food poisoning?” Mythra suggested.

“She didn’t clarify. Eurica said that Graull was not the man we assumed him to be, so that’s why I propose that he deliberately killed Raqura with poison.”

Silence fell upon them. Half of their expressions remained unreadable, while the rest appeared confused. Mòrag said nothing until they took in what she was implying. Sure, she had no proof of such an act, but it was not beneath Graull to usurp the throne. He had always been desperate to get his mitts on it, regardless. It all seemed so obvious what Eurica had meant that night. If it was true, then Graull could be dethroned without the need for a fully-fledged war!

After she explained herself further, most of the group seemed on board, but Nia cut in with another question.

“How are we gonna get this evidence, then? If that’s the case, wouldn’t Graull have covered it up?”

“We can contact the royal court of Uraya. We have messengers. It is not out of our reach.”

It was farfetched, but it was a plan that had substance to it. It was certainly better than risking further casualties by trying to put an end to the war as soon as possible. If Graull really had poisoned his aunt, then he’d be kicked off his pedestal before he could blink. Things would end peacefully and perhaps the court would not appoint another tyrant as their next monarch.

Mòrag couldn’t wait to discuss it with His Majesty.

Back in her room at last, Mòrag sat on the edge of her bed with a cup of tea and stared into the hot liquid. All she could think about was the possibilities ahead of them. She prayed that she was correct, that they didn't need to fight anymore. Brighid had joined her seeing as the evening was young and she desired company. She had expected her room to smell stale as she had not slept in it for so long, but to her pleasant surprise, it had been kept clean and dusted.

Brighid crept towards her. Mòrag saw the glow of her flames from the corner of her eye as she approached.

“We never had the chance to talk about what happened.”

“Pardon?” Mòrag said.

“As in, what happened to you while you were in captivity. You’ve been very quiet about it.”

Mòrag didn’t feel obliged to share her experience—what was the need? She was free now, wasn’t she? She rolled her shoulders back and sighed, the tea scalding her hands as she gripped it tighter.

“What else is there to say? I was starved, and that was it.”

Brighid wasn’t done asking questions. “How did you get out of your cell in the first place?”

“...Steaphan came in.”

“What was he doing in there?”

Coming to torment her further. Mòrag grimaced at the memory, his smug grin flashing across her mind for a moment. His words of disdain, along with the stabbing pain of his kicks and punches, came back in horrifying recallections.

Her silence had gone on too long as Brighid placed her hand on her shoulder. “Lady Mòrag?”

“He tortured me,” she whispered. She cleared her throat to sound stronger. “Nothing horrific, so don’t jump to conclusions. I am completely fine.”

Unhappy with her brief answer, Brighid scowled. “What do you mean, he tortured you? Are you alright?”

The Special Inquisitor offered some details of his assaults to keep Brighid quiet, yet she had no desire to talk about it. Besides, it could have been worse. She shuddered as she recalled his graphic threat of throwing her to Graull’s hungry guards. She was no fool. She knew _exactly_ what he meant. It was a fate she would not wish on anyone.

Once she had finished, Brighid began to pace angrily. Mòrag supposed she couldn’t blame her. It was a frustrating situation.

“I’ll kill that son of a bitch the next time I see him. He’ll be begging for death by the time I’m through with him.” Blue flames curled along Brighid’s arms like vipers. Mòrag laughed dryly. She had never endorsed prolonged suffering, but she would definitely make an exception for him. He was almost as bad as Graull himself.

Mòrag just had to hope they would all get the chance to enact their revenge in the upcoming final battle, if it had to happen. Niall only wanted the one to declare the ultimate victory. Everyone had suffered long enough.

* * *

 

As the Core Splicer warmed up, Graull and the remaining Reubaltaich watched as Eurica’s unconscious body was strapped to the table.

Thick leather belts kept her secure. She had not resisted, though there was no telling how her body would react to such an operation. There had been cases of limbs jerking forward in their sleep in previous practice runs. The laser of the machine hovered above the blade's chest. Her coat had been removed, leaving her in the dress that slit down below her cleavage, The amber core crystal was in plain view. Graull was standing over her, a hand inching forward to brush away some hairs from her delicate face.

“I owe her the world for her sacrifice,” he said, mostly to himself. 

He felt the gazes of Raghnall and Steaphan behind him. They had failed him greatly. Steaphan was the one responsible for the Flamebringer’s escape, and Raghnall had not captured her when he had the perfect opportunity. Normally, Graull would have ripped both of their heads off with his bare hands at the first chance he got, but he had something special planned for them. He would first give them a treat—the honour of watching his Blade Eater operation. Then, with his newfound abilities, he would drag out their demise as long as possible. He did so loved to prolong suffering.

“It is ready, Your Majesty,” a scientist announced.

Wonderful. Graull gave the order to turn on the laser. It burned white hot, and first mapped out the amount of crystal it would cut from Eurica’s core with a harmless glow.

“More than that,” he snapped.

“But, sire, if we take anymore, she will not awaken—”

The king’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Are you disobeying me? I said, cut  _more_.”

By the time he was satisfied, the majority of Eurica’s core crystal had been sliced off. She was left with a small, useless sliver. The surgically removed crystal was plucked from her skin and held up to the light with a pair of tweezers. It was _marvelous._ Graull sneered as he eyed it. Soon, in mere minutes, that very crystal would be implanted into his flesh. It was a pity about Eurica. Really, he had grown quite fond of her over the years. She had never let him down in terms of skill or loyalty. But, that was then, and this was now. If he wanted to truly dominate the land around him, he was going to have to make her power his own.

He insisted on remaining awake for the procedure. Both the Reubaltaich men winced as anaesthetic was injected into his right pec. Blood poured as a fold was sliced open, though Graull didn’t flinch. He only laughed as the crystal was placed into the snug cavity of his muscle.

“Now then, gentlemen,” he began as he was being stitched back up. “It seems it is time for your very slow termination.”

“ _What_?” Raghnall barked. “What do you mean?!”

“You allowed the Flamebringer—the most valuable bargaining chip I had my hands on—to escape. You thought I would let the slide? You thought you’d _get away_ with such an act?”

Raghnall jumped forwards as Steaphan and the remainder of their rebel forced were grabbed and restrained. There were only a handful of bandits and soldiers left. He stared, dumbfounded, before turning his lip up into a snarl.

“No, _this_ wasn’t part of the deal! You said you’d spare us if we joined you!”

“You believed me?” Graull taunted. He got up from the operating table, glowing core crystal embedded in his chest. Blood seeped from it. So far, there had been no physical reactions to it, but only time would tell. Raghnall could only watch as he walked forward on unsteady feet. “You are an imbecile, Raghnall. Even if you hadn’t let the Flamebringer escape, I was going to kill you anyway. There is no place for Ardainian scum in _my_ kingdom.”

The ex-commander tried to run, yet it was useless. Ether surged through Graull’s enlarged arms as he reached out and grabbed Raghnall’s hair in his fist. He yelped as his head was yanked backwards. He turned to protest, though his words turned into a soundless gasp as Graull plunged his hand through his torso. 

Steaphan was stunned into silence. He watched helplessly as Graull allowed his arm to rest in Raghnall’s body, soaked in blood and tissue and whatever nasty parts that made up a human’s insides. 

When he ripped it out, Raghnall was already dead. He fell to the floor gracelessly. Graull snapped his wrist to rid himself of the gore he had drenched himself in. “Kill the rest of them.”

As the guards slit the remaining soldiers’ throats, Steaphan let out a wail of anguish.

“Spare me!”

He collapsed to his knees. Graull looked down at him, shocked, before cackling maniacally.

“What, you’re begging _me_ , now? How the mighty have fallen.”

Steaphan trembled. “I didn’t allow the Flamebringer to escape, I swear it! Your Majesty, she is a cunning witch. I only went to deliver her water before she attacked me with a pipe taken from the radiator. Please, allow me to live. I will make it up to you.”

The king paused to think. 

Well, he supposed he could squeeze more loyalty out of this one before he did away with him. Why waste valuable resources?

“Very well. I’ll have it seen to you that you— _urgh_!”

Everyone that wasn’t dead on the floor turned to their king in shock. Graull coughed, blood surging from his mouth as he fell to one knee. The doctors rushed forward to check the core crystal. It remained in his chest, but it throbbed with a pulsating light.

They all knew what it meant. The operation was not a complete success.

He might have Eurica’s power in his veins, but it clearly did not mesh well as Graull threw back his head and screamed.


	24. Swan Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Debating the final stage in their advancement leaves them at a stalemate. Mòrag and Rex share a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy fuck, i am so sorry this took nearly 2 months. university started up for me, i had psychiatrist appointments and overall just wasn't inspired to work on this. i finally got my ass in gear and finished this not so eventful chapter, but the final climax will progress over the next two or so chapters!!!

**** The troubling thing about Uraya’s monarchy system was that it was absolute.

Graull, in theory, could do whatever he pleased. He could change the rules of the court, could appoint new laws without approval, and declare war—as he had been—out of the blue. It was what made him so dangerous. They had to be grateful that Raqura had not been a tyrant before him, making their adventure across Alrest much easier.

Mor Ardain’s monarchy, on the other hand, was constitutional. Niall held great power, yet he was limited by the Senate. They had to be the ones to approve major decisions and law changes. For the most part, that had been fine, but as Mòrag sat at the end of the table with them, fist holding up her cheek in misery, she had to regret them being part of the system. They were a group of pompous old  _ fools. _

“Do you want to anger him further?” one Senator cried, slamming his fist on the wood.

“You wish for a violent battle instead?” another countered.

Discussing her newfound plan with Niall had been simple enough. Mòrag had caught him the next day and promptly told him what she had remembered at the party. The theory was strong, but not a proven fact, thus rendering the Senate in a deadlock. 

“Your Majesty, we cannot guarantee that our messengers will even reach Neo-Uraya’s borders,” one next to Niall said. “Surely he would have upped his defences now.”

Niall hummed into his hand. “That would be likely. Perhaps I can have the the Aegis’ and their driver go?”

Mòrag stiffened at that suggestion, though some of the more stubborn Senators seemed to approve. They would need someone capable of getting back into the country and passing along the message of Graull being a possible usurper, but Neo-Uraya was a long way away and they’d only just come back. It had been a mere week since Mòrag’s return, and while she looked much better, Niall still didn’t want her working. The only reason she was in her uniform was to keep up appearances.

“Graull seemed perfectly capable of sending messages to us from the safety of his palace. I don’t see why we can’t do the same.”

“You think he’d let anything get to the court?”

“A letter wouldn’t get past the border!”

The arguing only intensified. Niall pinched the bridge of his nose. The Senate were difficult at most times, seeing as they were all elderly and set in their ways. Since they were not coming to a conclusion any time soon, Mòrag raised her hand. It was only until the bickering died down that they finally turned to her.

“Do you have a suggestion to make, Special Inquisitor?”

“There are many Urayan refugees trapped in the land between Neo-Mor Ardain and Neo-Uraya. I suggest we take them in and ask them if they are aware of any such thing.”

One Senator choked on his water. “You want to let Urayan refugees in?!”

“They might have valuable information,” Mòrag shot back. “We can keep them out of Alba Cavanich if the thought bothers you so much.”

“Preposterous.”

“And what if he has spies?”

Mòrag raised an eyebrow. “I doubt any civilian would be willing to spy for him. Do you not realise the damage he has caused to Uraya’s economy? His people are starving. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

True, Mòrag had only caught a glimpse, yet the sight wouldn’t leave her. When passing to and from her hotel in Fonsa Myma, skinny Urayans went about their lives. The market was dry of food despite their new abundance of land. It was all going towards the war efforts.

That still didn’t seem to satisfy the Senate.

“Your judgement is but one opinion amongst many, Inquisitor.”

As Niall called for order, everyone shut up and turned to him. Indeed, the Senate as a group could dominate him, although as individuals they weren’t much. They could not make such big decisions alone. It was a good thing. While Mòrag respected the emperor above all else, she had never been big on the idea for one single ruler. Graull made a fine example of why she believed it didn’t often end well. If everyone ruled as Niall did, then the world would be a better place, but not everyone was Niall.

The young emperor sighed and stared down at his lap unprofessionally. No one commented on it. “This is a serious situation. We are at war, and there is no doubt that Graull will be even more angry. Special Inquisitor,” he said as Mòrag perked up, “you are welcome to investigate Urayan refugees near our borders provided you leave any fighting to others. I’ll leave the details of the operation up to you.”

“Majesty,” Mòrag responded.

“You are letting her go through with this, sire?” a Senator snapped. “What happens if Graull decides to attack us as he planned?”

“Then we brace ourselves. Whether or not we find proof of any wrong doings he has committed, he will attack regardless. I am simply willing to take any opportunity we come across. We will need any advantage we can get.”

Niall remained fairly quiet as things were discussed further. Naturally, he would try and take the pacifist route, but he was backed into a corner. He was leaving most of the decisions surrounding the army to Mòrag if he was able. He hated to even think of it.

His sister could read his mind. Across the table, she gave him the slightest of nods, lips pressed into a hard line.

He smiled in return.

“All in favour for preparing for the upcoming battle?”

The vast majority raised their hands, including Niall and Mòrag. She knew it would probably be futile to try and stop anything now, though she clung on to the hope. They still needed to prepare.

As the meeting drew to a close, Niall dragged himself to his feet, cloak heavy on his shoulders. He forced himself to straighten up and approached Mòrag. “Don’t expend yourself. I want no fighting from you, and you are to spend no more than six hours on your feet.”

She placed a hand to her chest and bowed her head. “You needn’t worry so much, Majesty.”

Niall raised his ungloved hand to his mouth to chew on his nails again. He’d been doing it so much that blood crusting the sides of his fingers was a common sight by now. As long as he didn’t get himself infected, Mòrag didn’t try to stop him.

“Yes, I suppose. Just… take care of yourself, Mòrag.”

Brighid was waiting for her outside. Upon seeing the forlorn expression on her driver’s face, she said naught until they were clearly out of earshot.

“What decisions have been made?”

“The battle will commence as planned.”

“Even though you have that theory about Graull being a usurper?”

Mòrag nodded. “Unfortunately. They argued that it wasn’t a strong enough hypothesis to work on and that time is of the essence. I agree. His Majesty has given me permission to investigate any Urayan refugees near Neo-Mor Ardain’s borders for information, but that is all the resources we can spare. This battle needs to happen  _ now _ if Elysium has any chance of flourishing.”

They remained quiet for the rest of their journey. Mòrag had been recovering nicely. Brighid had kept a close eye—making sure she continued taking her medication and by following the special diet for the time being. It consisted of boring food such as oatmeal and yoghurts, though Mòrag had never been a fussy eater. She was happy to eat  _ anything. _ As for any other physical injuries, the bruises she had received from Steaphan’s treatment were already long gone thanks to Nia. Brighid no longer had any worries. The first few days had been rough, but her driver was the strongest person she knew. There was no doubt that Mòrag would be back to her old self by next week.

The others hadn’t preoccupied themselves well. Zeke had acted much like a caged animal—pacing the hallways in anticipation while Pandoria worriedly followed him. Rex and Nia brooded alone, while their blades huddled together in small groups for company. Brighid had been too busy watching Mòrag, so she had not been present to act as the motherly figure. Pyra was doing a good job of filling in, her warm personality shining through this short age of darkness, yet Brighid had to say it was a relief to join them again.

“Well?” Rex nagged as soon as the two women entered the palace foyer.

He rocked on his heels as Mòrag explained the situation.

“Great! Then we’ll go with you.”

“Is it really going to achieve anything?” said Nia.

“My lady…” Dromarch warned.

The Gormotti slid her eyes over to him. “What? I’m just being realistic. Graull’s gonna attack us whether or not we have evidence—”

“Nia!” Rex barked, perhaps a little too aggressively. He shrank back as he realised he had overstepped his boundaries. Everyone understood; they were tense too. “I mean, uh, sorry. I just wanna get this whole thing over with, and get back to normal. I don’t want to see anyone hurt.”

“We all do, Rex.” It was Mythra who spoke next. As she sat next to Pyra, she buried her head in her knees. She was tired.

Despite having luxurious beds at their disposal, nobody had been sleeping well. It was perhaps as stressful as it was back when their final fight against Amalthus and Malos was looming. Rex was still unsure of which made him more upset. The Malos situation was obviously more dire—the whole  _ world _ was at stake, after all—but it just seemed simpler. His young mind became frazzled at the mere mention of politics. There were a whole load of ridiculous laws that made everything more difficult than it had to be. If it were up to him, he’d do away with it and take down Graull as if he were no king. In Rex’s eyes, he wasn’t. No true leader would ever treat their people like that.

“So, shall we head out?” he said in the attempt to distract from his outburst.

Mòrag nodded. “Whoever wishes to come is welcome.”

* * *

 

“There really isn’t  _ anyone _ out there?” Mythra said in observation. 

The party of seven hovered just over the outskirts of Neo-Mor Ardain, staring into the vast empty forest ahead of them. They hadn’t bothered going too far out. Azami’s Clairvoyant Eye could pick up nothing. There was not a single human between here and the other countries. Many beasts and animals prowled through the undergrowth, but that was not what they were searching for.

“There’s gotta be someone!” Rex griped. He slammed his fist against a tree, frustrated.

“It seems Graull has really cracked down on border security,” said Brighid.

Mòrag stood with her blade, though she was not wearing her armour. She felt oddly light without it, but she figured walking around in bulky metal plating would cause her unnecessary fatigue, so she didn’t protest. Rex had come along with only Mythra and Azami, leaving Pyra at the palace to keep the balance over everyone. Tora and Poppi had joined for something to do. The Nopon was hovering at the back, clearly distracted by a Bunnit. 

Much to their disappointment, their search for Urayan refugees had failed. Azami had offered to check a third time although there was no point. If she couldn’t pick it up the first two attempts, then that proved there was no one here.

Tora turned and hopped over to stand at Mòrag’s feet. 

“What now?”

She pursed her lips. “We prepare for a full-frontal assault.”

“Just like that?” said Mythra.

“All’s fair in love and war,” said Brighid.

Rex scuffed the ground with his foot. “So there’s no dumb laws surrounding whether or not we can attack? We can go into Neo-Uraya and be done with it?”

Mòrag nodded slowly. “Essentially.”

“Aw, we should have done that in the first place.”

“It’s not… quite that simple, Rex. His Majesty is very adamant on going down a peaceful route to prevent any unnecessary deaths. We were tricked into believing that was a possibility when Graull proposed the peace talk.”  Honestly, it still vexed her to know they’d fallen for it. It was such an obvious trap that Mòrag could kick herself. She could only thank the deceased Architect that she’d been able to escape with her life. As the dark memory resurfaced, she placed a hand over her midsection.  “I think it’s best if we return. Lunch sounds like a viable option for now.”

Rex was reluctant to leave, but everyone jumped at the suggestion of food. It was a good attention-grabber, and it soothed Mòrag’s paranoia of not eating for the next several days. She spent most of her time on the edge of hunger due to her temporary diet. A week of yoghurts didn’t do much to fill the stomach.

Eventually, the driver sighed. “Alright.”

Lunch back at Alba Cavanich didn’t do much to lift their moods. After deciding to dine at a cafe, Rex sat with his cheek smushed against the table. Everyone had half-finished by the time someone said something.

“C’mon, stop moping. You can do that later,” Mythra chided. Rex grunted in response.

The Special Inquisitor understood him. The only reason she was able to keep her head up was the fact she was so elated to be alive. Others didn’t have that luxury. She watched as Mythra pulled him back by the shoulder, forcing him to lean against his seat. He shifted his eyes over to look at everyone. Tora was absorbed in his meal, and Poppi didn’t feel confident enough to cut in. Her eyes flickered from each person at the table worriedly. The Nopon frowned in disapproval as he noticed Rex’s still full plate.

“Rex-Rex should enjoy food while we here!”

“How can you enjoy anything when there’s a war going on?” Rex shot back.

Tora gave a little wave of his wings, in a sort of gesture to the surroundings. “We get VPL service so why waste it?”

Brighid grimaced. “I think you mean VIP.”

“Huh?”

“Look,” Mòrag said, “we can discuss it when we return to Hardhaigh. Keeping your strength up for now is all I ask.”

Rex flashed her a look of pity as he realised she was referring to her state of starvation at Sevind. Mòrag regretted her choice of words, not intending to make him feel guilty, but at least it got Rex to start eating. He was going to be one of their most important players in this fight. Even if Mythra and Pyra could not fuse like they could before, they were still powerful. If Rex wielded one, then the other could fight on their own. It doubled the effectiveness of their fighting. It was comparable to splitting Pneuma’s power in half and sharing it across the battlefield.

Everyone left them alone when they arrived back. Tora and Poppi returned to the foyer, presumably to be in more company, and Azami respectfully excused herself. That left four of them together.

“Brighid,” Mòrag turned to her blade, “could I ask you to oversee the arrangement of my soldiers? Our captains will need to take on a company rather than a platoon like they’ve been used to, so no doubt they will have questions.”

She saluted. “Ma’am.”

Mythra looked to Rex. “Want me to leave you to it?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry. I won’t be long.”

“No problem. I’ll let the guys know.”

The pair stared at each other. Rex’s eyes were glistening, as if tears were ready to pour out, yet his face was stony. He had always been a sensitive boy. Not that that was a bad thing, thought Mòrag. In fact, she admired him being so open about his emotions. Being sentimental had its downsides, but at least Rex was able to pick himself up and not dwell on things. Once he had a good cry, he was back to his old self. Mòrag could only wish her heart was so free.

“How are you feeling, Rex?” she asked plainly.

He screwed his face up. “What do you mean, how am I feeling? Terrible! All of our hard work was almost for nothing. Graull’s going to ruin it and there’s nothing I can do to stop him without innocents dying.” He then clenched his fists and turned his head to the side, trying to hide the burning behind his eyelids. “I don’t know how you remain so strong, Mòrag. You’ve hardly blinked over this whole thing.”

That certainly took Mòrag by surprise. She stood, mouth slightly agape, as Rex scowled to himself.  _ He _ thought  _ she _ was strong? After all he had done to save the world?

“Rex, I do feel emotions, you know,” she joked.

“I mean, I  _ know _ , but you hide it so well.”

“Sometimes... hiding what you feel is not the best way to go about things.” There was a pause. Perhaps it was the way her voice lowered, or the sad look in her eyes that got Rex to peer up at her. “Concealing it does nothing to get it out of one’s system. It will build up until it expresses itself in an unhealthy manner.”

She thought back to her many outbursts the past few months. Punching the wall, shouting at Brighid, holing herself in her room for days—it was a long list. All because she was too proud to let anyone know her true feelings. Mòrag bit her lower lip before it began quivering.

Then again, didn’t that go against the point of what she was trying to say?

She held a hand to her mouth.  _ Wonderful, _ she said to herself.  _ Breaking down in front of Rex. As if blubbering to Brighid wasn’t humiliating enough. _

Rex’s eyes widened. “Mòrag?!”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “D-don’t mind me. It’s just the medication’s side effects—”

Gasping as Rex’s hand shot out to grasp hers, Mòrag forced herself to move back to him. Whatever sadness he held on his face had disappeared in favour of one of adamance. 

“Hey, hey. What were you saying about bottling feelings up? It’s only me. I’m the most emotional guy out there!”

It was an awkward attempt at a jest to make her feel better, though Mòrag appreciated it. She wasn’t sobbing like she had done before her blade, but even just the few treacherous tears that found their way down her cheeks was bad enough. Architect, how embarrassing.

“I apologise,” Mòrag said once she regained her composure. She wiped beneath her eyes with one finger. “It seems I… have more emotions that I first thought.”

“You let it out. That’s good. Maybe you’ll feel better!” Rex beamed.

Well, she supposed so. It was still humiliating to cry when she was the adult and Rex was still a teenager, yet she tried to be gentle to herself. She’d been through a lot. Why didn’t her damn medication kick in when she needed it the most?!

No, it would not do to dwell on that. Rex watched as she blinked away the last spots of wetness and assumed her usual stance. 

“Forgive me. Such a display will not happen again—”

“Oi, enough of that,” Rex barked. “No more saying sorry for stuff that doesn’t need apologising for.”

“...Very well.”

Once the air was cleared, and Mòrag was confident she appeared as if she hadn’t shed a few tears, she allowed herself to revert back to the previous conversation.

“Regardless of how any of us feel, we will still need to proceed in defeating Graull. Rex, you are one of my most valuable pieces on this chess board. We will try and minimise as many losses as possible, but we need your assistance. Can I rely on you for that?”

The young driver gave her a wide grin. “As always. So, chess board, huh? What piece am I?”

Mòrag chuckled. “You’d be a fine knight.”

“Cool,” he said. “And you’d be the queen, right?”

Flashbacks of old conversations hit her hard as the word slipped from Rex’s mouth. Mòrag almost stumbled back in surprise, every memory of her chess playing days hitting her at once. She was the queen. The most powerful piece on the board, though the one most willing to sacrifice herself for her king. She hardened her jaw. She would have to put aside whatever remaining emotions she had left for this final endeavor. Therapy could come afterwards. For now, she had a duty to fulfill for her country, for her friends and for her _king._

“Yes,” she eventually responded. “I would.”

* * *

 

“What would Zeke be?” Rex asked on their way to the training grounds. It was a patch of torn up dirt not too far away from Hardhaigh, surrounded by trees and pretty lakes. Most of the Ardainian soldiers were there already, along with Brighid overseeing them. The blade was owed a year off for all the hard work she'd been doing without so much as a fuss.

“A rook, in my opinion. A rook moves in a straight line, and I feel Zeke is quite full-frontal in his attacks.”

“Makes sense. Okay, how about Nia?”

Mòrag had to think about that one. “A bishop?”

“Yeah. And Tora would be another knight."

The troops saluted as they arrived. Mòrag nodded in return, while Rex bounded forwards to greet both Mythra and Pyra. The others weren't present, however, so she assumed they were still at the palace.

“Hey, guys. What’s up?”

“Training,” responded Mythra. “Gotta keep on our toes if we want this battle to go smoothly.”

“A wise idea,” said Mòrag.

Pyra waited until a moment in time opened for her to interject. “If you have any idea, Mòrag, when are we supposed to attack?”

That was a tough question to answer. Officially, the Senate would give their approval of a time and Niall would confirm it, but the Senate were still arguing amongst themselves. If they didn’t come up with a decision soon, then Graull would attack and give himself the advantage. If Mòrag could decide, then she’d attack now. Better early than left until late, when more lives could be lost.

“...Hopefully soon.”

It was a lame answer. She noticed Pyra's face fall in disappointment, obviously just as worried as they were. Mòrag mentally shook her head of the thought and turned to observe the soldiers. As they had fewer captains with long-term experience, they had to take on more troops and were adjusting to the new layouts. The captains from Neo-Gormott had not been fighting nearly as long as they had. They were handling it well, despite their differences. Mòrag was proud of them. 

“How will we know when they make a decision?” asked Rex. "Like, it's bound to be any second now—"

Before Mòrag could answer, a piercing wail sent everyone clutching their ears. The soldiers dropped whatever they were doing to lurch forwards. A siren, calling from the palace.

No siren was ever good news.

"What the hell is that?" Mythra yelled above the horrific noise.

"My ears are bleeding!" shouted Rex.

“I believe that’s our cue.” Mòrag clenched her teeth and gestured for them to follow her. Getting back to the palace was a bit of a scrabble, but since Mòrag held such a high rank, she was granted first access. The siren's haunting screams made the blood rush to their ears to throb painfully. They'd had sirens installed at the previous Hardhaigh, though this was the first one they'd heard since settling in Elysium. No matter how many times Mòrag heard it, the very sound sent her legs turning to gelatin.

Brighid arrived soon after. The warm glow of her flaming arms served to soothe the tension in her body, and Mòrag breathed a sigh of relief.

“Isn’t that the emergency siren, Lady Mòrag?” Brighid questioned as she fell into step with her driver.

“Yes. I haven’t heard it except in drills. By the Architect, I hope nothing irreversible has occurred.”

That was a daring wish. Such a siren would never go off in times of peace. 

Niall was pacing in the throne room by the time they arrived. The entire Senate was also present, causing a stir amongst them and Niall’s advisors. It was a whirlwind of chaos contained in one room. Mòrag batted aside anyone too frantic to see them coming and only bowed at the waist when she approached her brother. 

“Special Inquisitor, thank goodness,” he said breathlessly. He then snapped at the nearest advisor, “Turn that siren off! I can hardly hear!”

“What is it, Your Majesty?” Mòrag asked, urging the panic in her voice to remain undetectable.

Niall cast his eyes to the windows. His Adam's apple—ever more present the older he got—bobbed as he swallowed nervously. “Our guards at the border have sighted Graull’s forces making an advancement. They’ve left Neo-Uraya and are now making their way towards us.”


	25. Kriegsgebiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mòrag leads her forces to prevent Graull's loyalists from invading Neo-Mor Ardain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is ehhh, not as good as i was imagining but next chapter. next chapter will be the one.

**** Alba Cavanich was in chaos.

Mòrag expected as much when she left the palace, but she was pleased to see a squadron of soldiers attempting to wrangle everyone under control. For safety’s sake, they were to either lock themselves in their basements or take refuge closer to the palace. Since Hardhaigh was so small and unfinished, they couldn’t afford to just shove everyone in there. Not to mention the Senate wouldn’t have it. They could afford no disruption anywhere near their emperor.

Blowing out a breath and then sharply inhaling, Mòrag took her group to the courtyard to make sure they were all present. So far, it was just her own blade and Rex, so she assumed the others must still be indoors.

“They’ve gotta hear the alarm, right?” said Pyra.

The sirens had ebbed away to once a minute, though they were still loud and clear. There was absolutely no way they couldn’t have heard them.

“Obviously,” replied Mythra, attempting to acting calm but it was evident she was panicked. Her eyes darted to and fro, searching for imaginary enemies.

Not that they’d  _ stay _ imaginary.

“Guys, what the hell is going on?” echoed a loud voice.

Right on cue, Zeke came barreling out of Hardhaigh’s main doors and nearly knocked over the guards on standby. Pandoria, Nia, Dromarch, Tora and Poppi followed him in a close-knit group, yet they had the wisdom to sidestep the people running past. Dromarch, at least, was considerate enough to assist the collapsed guards to their feet. They glared at the prince, though were overall too flustered to argue. There was no time.

“Those are emergency sirens, right?” said Nia. Mòrag nodded.

“Yes. I’m afraid Graull is making his advancement.”

A look of horror fell over the Gormotti's face. “Right now?”

“Where are they, then?” Zeke barked, tapping his foot impatiently.

“According to our scouts, by the time we reach them, we will have arrived at the no man’s land point between Neo-Mor Ardain and Neo-Uraya. So just beyond Falach.” Brighid folded her arms as she explained, eyelashes fluttering. Her lips were pursed and she was standing  _ very _ close to Mòrag. It made sense. She’d become terrified of losing her driver since the incident at Sevind Palace. Not for her own sake, but because knowing that Mòrag had suffered made her heart ache. The two had hardly been separated when out of the palace doors.

A brief silence loomed over them as they struggled to gather their weapons. Supplies were already being carted out by frantic soldiers, so all they needed to do was prepare themselves. They already had their blades at their sides. They had made the wise decision to employ every rare blade in their arsenal. Not that they would be able to wield each one, but they would be sent out in groups as they did in Merc missions.

“I know this is of such short notice,” Mòrag began, tipping her head so that her visor covered her eyes, “but are all of you… okay with this? You are actively taking part in Mor Ardain’s war.”

“Well, duh!” Pandoria said. “We’ve been supporting you this entire time, right? Why wouldn’t we help out now?”

“It’s not like it’s your fault,” Rex added. “We’re not fighting Uraya, remember? We’re fighting Graull.”

“Putting that lumbering hulk in his place is long overdue,” Zeke said with a grin as he cracked his knuckles. The sound caused Mòrag to cringe at how easily his joints popped. Instead of stating so, she offered a weak smile. She supposed Rex was right. They had no quarrel with Uraya—just its leader. He was a threat that needed to be dealt with for the safety of every nation in Elysium. Surely his citizens felt the same way. Perhaps the two countries would never be the same, although they could at least hold a peace treaty. A legitimate one this time.

It was therefore decided. Their final battle would commence shortly. Mòrag swallowed thickly before they turned to leave, where her army awaited her instructions. As Gormott’s forces would not arrive for some time, they were left with a pitiful amount of what the Ardainian army used to be.

Mòrag owed them all the world for their efforts. They had all fought so hard despite the circumstances looking grim time and time again.

“Then I’ll take the small amount of time we have to thank you all. I’ll never be able to repay your kindness. Mor Ardain will forever be indebted to you—”

“Enough of that cliché crap,” Zeke interrupted. “Stop acting like we’re all gonna die, Mòrag. It’s nothing we can’t handle. Now c’mon, I have a serious bone to pick with that moron they call a king.”

Pyra laughed at his bluntness, and as Mòrag chuckled along, she didn’t protest. They’d taken down an Aegis together. They’d saved Alrest once, so they could do it again. Placing her hand to her chest, Mòrag bowed in respect to all of them. Perhaps it was a habit at this point, yet she felt obliged. They had given her a chance when she had battled against them all those years ago. Almost three, to be precise. She’d attacked Rex, thrown Nia in jail—there wasn’t a day that went by that she didn’t feel guilty.

She’d have to find some way to give back to them when this was all over. But, for now, they would press on.

A beating of giant wings stopped their advancement, and they turned to see Azurda. The titan appeared significantly better since his last trip. The tatters in his wings from over-exertion had healed and his head was held high with strength.

“In need of my assistance?”

“Gramps!” Rex said happily, running over to wrap his arms around the titan’s enormous leg. “How are you? Have you recovered from that flight?”

“It took its toll on me, but I am quite alright,” said Azurda. He blinked when he lay eyes on Mòrag. “Ah, already up and about, Lady Mòrag?”

For a moment, Mòrag wondered what he meant, but she realised it had only been a week since her rescue. A week before she was even meant to work at all.

“It is my duty,” she replied blankly.

“As long as you take care.”

“We could totally use you,” Nia said. “Like, y’know, as a scout. Fly the perimeter and all that.”

“Not a bad idea,” said Zeke.

“I heard the Urayan soldiers are advancing at an alarming rate. Should I head for Falach?” It seemed Azurda was already ahead of the game. It would take longer to get through Falach thanks to its dense foliage, though they should catch them before they got too far. 

Azurda dipped his head. “Not a problem. I’ll report back when I see fit.”

“Remember to come back if they start shooting at you!” Rex hollered as he took to the skies. He then sighed and slumped his shoulders.

“Problem, chum?” Zeke said, grasping the younger driver by the shoulder.

“Sorry,” Rex mumbled. “It’s just… I’m worried. Our last fight against Uraya didn’t go so well.”

Mòrag recalled their idiotic plan to split up back in the Neo-Gormott mountains when they came into contact with Raghnall for the first time. It seemed like such a long time ago when it had only been a few months. Architect, how time both flew and dragged at the same time. Mòrag shoved the thought from her memory and mentally slapped herself. She had a battle to win. They all did.

“So what’s the plan for this whole fight then, Mòrag?” Nia inquired after Rex pulled himself together.

“To be honest, there isn’t one. We go in, and our top priority is defeating Graull.”

Brighid then added, “And not dying.”

“Good plan,” Pandoria muttered to herself.

It was better than nothing at all.

Captain Padraig saluted as they arrived at Alba Cavanich’s gates. While a good chunk of the army were out in the field or gathering supplies, at least a hundred troops had gathered to await the Inquisitor’s orders.

“Your Grace,” greeted Padraig. She sanctioned him with a formal nod.

“This is the moment, ladies and gentlemen. I hope to put an end to this unnecessary war by defeating Graull here and now. This bloodshed will be ceased.”

To be truthful, Mòrag was terrified. Terrified one of her friends would be fatally wounded. Of course, they had Nia, but even her powers were limited. She was only able to save Niall back then because he hadn’t been dead long. What if one of them died and she arrived too late to resurrect them?

No, she thought. She couldn’t think like that. Cursing her medication for the sentimentality, Mòrag acknowledged her awaiting soldiers. Her companions, at the front of the group, nodded proudly.

A stamp of the foot and a raised hand later, the army turned around at her orders. Mòrag, flanked by Brighid, pointed towards the looming forests where no man’s land lay.

“March.”

* * *

 

Graull clenched his teeth as he stalked the undergrowth. He had already sent his troops out to attack Neo-Mor Ardain, but he himself had decided to take another route. He wanted to savour the moments alone to bathe in his newfound power.

If he had to describe it in one word, he would say it was  _ exhilarating. _ The power of a blade within his own body! Despite that fact that his own flesh had burned so badly he had to be held down before he ripped it off, Graull had never felt more  _ alive. _ He could march for days without rest. He barely slept, almost fuelled entirely by Eurica’s core crystal embedded in his chest. It pulsed erratically. All thoughts of feeling guilty for sending Eurica into a never-ending coma left him the longer he existed in this state.

Blood coated his tongue as he realised he had been biting it. He did not care, however. His new powers would restore any wound, no matter how fatal. 

He was unstoppable. Invincible.

And with this power, he would crush every Ardainian with his own fists. He would take the Special Inquisitor and force her to watch as he gutted her brother, and then he’d destroy her. It was the least she deserved after escaping under his watch.  _ No one _ fled from him.

Several times, Graull found himself toppling to the floor on unsteady legs. The fusion had taken it out of him. It was not perfect, and was never guaranteed to be, though it could have gone better. His limbs had distorted to unnatural angles. His back was hunched, and while Graull had not seen himself in a mirror, he knew his face had been stretched. 

He was a beast, but that was fine with him. As long as he got what he wanted.

Thus he trudged on, breaking thin trees as if they were pencils and grinding leaves into dust under his feet. He would take the Special Inquisitor by surprise as she was busy focusing on his army. It was a plan that couldn’t fail.

* * *

 

“That’s… a lot of soldiers.”

Stood atop one of the few hills on Falach’s edge, the group peered over to see Graull’s troop advancing. They charged over a clear, grassy meadow edged by the woods of Neo-Gormott and Falach. The Urayans were about ten minutes away on foot, pouring across the land like the plague. The familiar blue glow of blade weapons decorated their masses like stars on a night sky. The dimmed afternoon light only served to highlight that observation as Mòrag gazed down on them. She was not scared of _them_ in particular, more so scared of the innocents that would be lost in this fight. No matter how many battles she went through, she could never shrug off the knowledge that death was inevitable.

Rex seemed to have lost some of his confidence once he saw the amount of Urayans waiting for them. He shifted on his feet, clutching his sword tightly.

“You can still turn back if you wish,” Brighid advised him, placing a hand on his shoulder in comfort.

He immediately brushed her off. “No way! I’m not afraid! You think we can’t take them on? All I’m concerned about is Mythra and Pyra. They’re not like they’re used to be.”

“Hey, don’t underestimate us,” Mythra said sharply, giving Rex a nudge. “We’re still the Aegis. Just because we can’t fuse anymore doesn’t mean we’re not a threat.”

“Saying that, you still need to be careful,” said Mòrag. She narrowed her eyes. “No doubt those soldiers will be merciless if they choose to follow Graull.”

“Whatever. I’m going to crush them either way. Charge!” Zeke yelled, drawing his weapon and hurtling down the hill.

“Shellhead!” Nia called out for him, but Zeke was too busy screaming his battle cry to take notice. Pandoria followed, struggling to keep up with her driver’s pace. 

“Zeke make stupid choice!” cried Tora, covering his eyes with his wings.

Mòrag sighed. “I guess that settles it. Attack when you see fit!”

On cue, her soldiers went forth. She hadn’t planned on giving the signal so soon, but seeing as Zeke would probably injure himself charging in alone like that, she didn’t want him to go in without backup. What an idiot. Her soldiers didn’t object to the idea, however, only being too pleased to join him in attacking Uraya’s frontal guard. Now, it was up to them to take the other directions

“Everyone else,” Mòrag said to her companions, “it would be intelligent to attack from the sides. Be careful you are not surrounded.”

“What about you?” said Rex.

She straightened her back. “I will assist you in taking out anyone in the way, but I will be going after Graull.”

“Lady Mòrag, is that wise?” Brighid said in concern.

Mòrag shook her head. This was personal, at this point. Of course defeating him would lead to the eventual downfall of his army, though she wanted to do it herself. Perhaps it was selfish and stubborn, and not the best course of action, but as the saying went—if you want something done right, do it yourself. And she only trusted herself to drill his karma right back into his brain. He would pay for his actions against his own country and the rest of Elysium.

“Probably not, yet it must be done. If he is destroyed, then his army will crumble.”

“Just don’t go in alone,” Rex warned before he went and joined the rest, blades and drivers alike, into the fray. Mòrag shut her eyes.

No, not alone. This time would be different.

The battlefield ended up being very thick with onslaught.

Mòrag had little choice except trail behind, taking out any stray soldiers that were cocky enough to ambush her. They were burnt to ashes in seconds. Brighid, who had been meditating on her powers the past several weeks, had so much pent up ether energy that her Arts were much stronger than usual. No one could survive just a single lick of her flames. She went on a few steps ahead of Mòrag, ensuring her path was clear. All of the grass and bushes were reduced to nothing in their wake, and their sights became clearer.

They could see Rex, combined with Mythra and Pyra’s strength, bowling over at least fifty soldiers at once. They had become sharper in their recent training. It took more work to finish them off, but with Tora and Poppi standing by, it didn’t take long. Mòrag also caught sight of Nia’s blade form healing any allies, rendering them almost unstoppable. Zeke’s purple lightning streaked the sky from the very middle of the crowd—loud and chaotic, just as he liked it.

They were doing very well, and while that pleased Mòrag, there was something off. Where was Graull?

He had such a huge frame he should be easy to spot in such a vast clearing. Yet, no matter how hard she looked, Mòrag could not find him. 

“Still no sign of the king, Lady Mòrag,” Brighid said after unleashing a wall of flames to protect them momentarily. They needed to strategise.

“Is he not here?” Mòrag asked. “Would he seriously not show up in his own war, after all that he stands for?”

“Perhaps he is hiding towards the back of the army.”

The Special Inquisitor chewed on her lip. “Possibly. We should make our way around.”

“We’ll have to cut through the trees.” Brighid nodded to the nearby forest. It would slow them down.

“It seems it cannot be avoided. Stay close, Brighid.”

The blade bowed. “Of course, ma’am.”

* * *

 

“Damnit, Zeke, watch where you’re swinging that thing!” Nia shouted, ducking as Zeke’s sword almost lopped her head off. Now that the two armies had merged together, they found themselves pushed towards the centre of the chaos rather than where they had originally been positioned near the front. 

The rush of battle caused Zeke’s blood pressure to soar. He wasn’t really looking at where he was striking, only focused on throwing bolts of electricity anywhere and everywhere. Maybe it was stupid of him to do so, but he’d cut a nice path through the Graull loyalists. It felt good.

“Sorry!” he said in between breaths. “Nothing gets me upbeat like a good fight. If only those Reubaltaich bastards were here.”

“True. Haven’t seen any of them so far. Where are they?”

Nia kept switching from attacking to healing, so she took a breather as Zeke came to her side. It was true enough. There had not been a single Reubaltaich member spotted in this mass crowd. Surely, there’d be one or two, right? So where were they?

“You think Graull killed them all?” Zeke suggested, dislodging his sword from the ground where he had struck an attack.

Nia frowned. “After all that trouble of recruiting them?”

Overwhelmed by how many of the loyalists were swarming her seeing as she was the one responsible for healing their enemies, Nia drew her sword and unleashed a ring of water. Combined with Zeke and Pandoria’s lightning, the electricity conducted was enough to ricochet throughout the crowd and shock anyone coming in contact with it. Nia immediately healed any Ardainians damaged in the fray. Around them lay a pile of twitching, writhing Urayans. Success.

But still no Reubaltaich.

The group consisting of them and their blades looked around them. There was nothing to see besides Urayans and Ardainians going at each other’s throats. 

“I’m gonna bet Graull killed them,” said Pandoria.

“Yeah, what Pandy said.” Zeke let out a guffaw. “I bet—”

He stopped himself as a streak of black and orange caught his eyes. It was fast, zipping between soldiers to hide itself. While it was too quick to be seen, Zeke immediately knew it was no Urayan or Ardainian.

An axe of ice raised into the air. It hovered high above them all, and the only one oblivious to it was Pandoria. Time almost seemed to stand still. Zeke faltered, trying to warn her of the danger looming right behind her. At the horrified expression on her prince’s face, she turned, and the frozen edge collided into her shoulder.

“Fuck!  _ Pandy!” _

“Did you miss me?” Steaphan snarled. As Pandoria fell, he ripped his greataxe away. “Damn. Was aiming for the core crystal. That would render you useless.”

“How dare you!” Zeke hissed as he readied his sword. “You shouldn’t have come back, you orange-haired freak. Now, this time, I really  _ am _ going to kill you.”

Steaphan wasn’t wearing his Ardainian garbs. He had swapped them for some basic steel armour, but without the engravings of Urayan military etched into it. If they didn’t know who he was, he would be unrecognisable as an Ardainian or a Reubaltaich member in the first place.

“Oh, so Graull didn’t kill all of you,” Nia said as she rushed to attend Pandoria. Her wound was already healing, though it never hurt to speed things up. 

He was trembling. “Kill all of us? He only spared me after I begged for my life!”

Zeke paused after swinging his weapon in his direction, Steaphan scrambling back gracelessly. “Why are you working for him, then?”

“You think I have a  _ choice?”  _

“Oh, I don’t care if you chose to or not. Doesn’t matter. But you really should have ran while you had the chance.”

The prince was growling. He didn’t think he’d hated anyone as much as this in his life. The instances of Steaphan lodging an icicle in his calf, kidnapping Mòrag with Graull’s help, endangering the lives of so many people for no reason—yeah,  _ fuck _ this guy, he thought. He was cocky, arrogant and overconfident. Zeke couldn’t wait to put him in his place. Strangling him back in Neo-Gormott hadn’t been enough. He wanted  _ real _ vengeance.

Steaphan wiped a speck of blood from his lip as he picked himself off the ground. “Try me, pretty boy.”

He yelped as Pandoria tripped him up, sending him reeling. She grinned.

“Ha! At least he has good taste,” Zeke jested, laughing at Pandoria's payback. He then held his sword to the man’s throat, its edge crackling with amethyst sparks. “Now, let’s do this nice and slow.”

* * *

 

The forest was eerily quiet. 

Mòrag’s ears had been ringing with the clanging of weapons and screeching of wounded soldiers out on the field, but now, she could hear her own blood pumping through her veins. There wasn’t even the chirping of birds or the padded footsteps of animals nearby. They had likely fled from the fighting.

“Stay alert,” she said regardless.

Brighid nodded as she followed a few paces behind. Her arms and hair were glowing much more brightly than usual. It had been a wise idea to advise her to store her energy for this fight. While it was still not anticipated for today, Brighid had been doing a marvelous job of keeping calm. She had to, she supposed. Mòrag had been recovering, but there was no telling if something could send her backwards. This was to be the supposed final battle between Mor Ardain and Graull—the enemy that had been tormenting them for months. Brighid was all too aware of how Mòrag wanted to crush him between her teeth, and that was why she was there to stop her if she got too reckless.

“You are planning on killing Graull here?” she decided to ask, seeing as there was nobody here but themselves.

“It will most likely have to come to that,” replied Mòrag. She kept her head facing forwards. “He is not the type to come quietly.”

“I suspected as much.”

Now, Niall was very adamant on the policy of ‘do not kill unless necessary’. That was all well and good, and Mòrag was happy to obey that, though even Niall understood the risks that Graull presented. He was far stronger than their soldiers. Getting him to surrender and come peacefully was farfetched at best. Mòrag had already imagined this situation a thousand times in her mind. She would, of course, give him the chance to succumb, but she knew that Graull would rather die on the spot. That, too, was fine with her. Her heart sped up as she reimagined the scene yet again. She could beat him. She had to. She had defeated Malos, hadn’t she?

A spark of doubt entered her mind as Mòrag recalled that she had not done such a feat alone. Her entire journey, she had merely been assisting Rex and the Aegis. Yes, she played her role and that role was not a minor one, yet she couldn’t help wonder if she had the ability to take on Graull herself. He was no pushover. Mòrag was strong, but she had to take her size into consideration. If he got his hands on her, or found a way to unarm her, that would be it.

She flinched when she felt Brighid’s hand touch her back, towards the edge of her shoulder blade. 

“Are you quite alright? You stopped.”

Mòrag peered down to see that her feet had come to a halt. She kicked her legs out to get the feeling back and resumed their trek. “Yes, I am fine. Let us press onwards.”

However, as time dragged on, the pair found themselves without a lead. The forest was empty. Graull was not present.

“Do you really think he decided not to show?” Mòrag wondered out loud.

Brighid returned from scouting out the battlefield. “It appears so. I suggest joining with the others. I’m sure they can handle themselves, but we should be representing our army.”

“I agree,” said Mòrag. “We—”

She gasped as something large wrapped around her midsection. Claws dug into her ribs, and Mòrag barely had the time to cry out as she was yanked backwards.

“Mòrag!” she heard Brighid call.

The Special Inquisitor was thrown into the nearest tree. The trunk slammed the air right out of her, and Mòrag fell to her hands and knees. It took her several moments to regain her breath, only to look up and see the sight of horrors.

A hulking beast held Brighid within its talons. While the blade seemed unharmed, she struggled frantically in its grip. As much as her fire burned and lashed out, it was hardly fazed by the immense heat. Mòrag could see that its skin had blackened and flaked off as Brighid did everything in her power to roast it. What kind of monster was this?!

“Hold on,” Mòrag spat between gritted teeth. Her legs trembled with the force of being thrown so hard. Now standing, she managed to get a better glance at whatever beast had attacked them.

It was... oddly humanoid. Its skin was a scaly blue, somewhat paled in sections. Golden armour decorated its back while its shoulder plates were fused right into the muscle, as if the creature had grown into it. Mòrag gagged at the sight, disgusted by its gaping maw and straggly hair. It did not appear to be searching for food, as it showed no interest in clamping its teeth around Brighid—much to Mòrag’s relief. However, there was a malicious bloodlust in its eyes that was simply unmistakable.

_ This couldn’t be. _ This was no beast. Mòrag felt herself release a choked gasp as her eyes settled on the glowing amber crystal embedded in its chest. A core crystal. Eurica’s core crystal.

“I…” she muttered, shellshocked.  _ “Graull?!” _

Graull turned, sharpened teeth stretching into a sneer.

“Flamebringer.”


	26. Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mòrag faces Graull as a distorted Blade Eater.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: this chapter's fucking brutal. archive warnings apply :')
> 
> im shit at fight scenes but i tried my best. anyway, got this up quickly because i want to get this fic finished by the end of the year, and i was pretty damn excited. the ending is something i've been looking forward to write since i started this. we just have a few more chapters to go now. it's gonna be TASTEY!!!

It took Mòrag several precious seconds to come to terms with what she was looking at. This was neither man nor beast. What Graull had become was beyond what she could fathom, and the time it took for it to sink in was time she needed.

He dropped Brighid. She fell to the floor, crumpled in a heap. Mòrag would have called out to her if she wasn’t frozen in place, jaw slack in horror.

Graull turned. His face from a frontal angle was even _more_ horrific. His lips were twisted into a Cheshire smile, teeth gnarled through his gums from overgrowth. His eyes were bloodshot and almost appeared to glow in the shade of the forest trees. As she noted from moments ago, his armour was misshapen and had melded right into his flesh. He still stood on two legs, but his back was so hunched he probably could have moved better on four.

It didn’t take a genius to know that he had consumed Eurica’s core crystal, transforming him into a Blade Eater. Except, what was in front of the Special Inquisitor now was beyond a Blade Eater.

He was a monster.

“Flamebringer,” he said, voice distorted as if his throat struggled to function. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Mòrag swallowed thickly as she tried to stand her ground despite the hulking beast approaching her. “What have you _done?”_

The Urayan king snorted with a toss of his head. “Isn’t it obvious? I have transcended above humanity and blades. Using Indol’s blueprint technology that we’d miraculously recovered, I am now nigh-omnipotent.”

Well, it seemed he hadn’t lost his way with words. Mòrag grimaced at the sight of drool dripping from his chin. It wasn’t really a big surprise. His mouth was so warped that she was wondering how he was able to speak. It was bizarre how far the Indoline experiments had come. While she had heard the tales of rampaging Blade Eaters destined to die in short amounts of time, she had become so accustomed to how stable Zeke was. They never could have guessed what he was until he _told_ them. Even since then, Mòrag usually forgot about it unless the crystal shard became visible when his coat slipped. There was also the matter of Mikhail and just how long he’d lived. What Graull was right now was the complete opposite. He had gone and found Indol’s blueprints and done this to himself. How, exactly, was beyond her, but Mòrag dare ask. Graull wasn’t exactly the conversationalist type.

Instead, Mòrag went to ask a different question. “And what of Eurica?”

“Dead,” he stated plainly. “Or trapped in a coma. Whatever you wish to call it. I was sadly forced to take up almost her entire core crystal, after all.”

“You’re vile,” Mòrag spat.

Graull sneered. “Does it matter what you think of me? You will be dead soon enough, Flamebringer. You and your pathetic empire will be no more once I storm my way through your borders.”

As he rambled on, Mòrag caught sight of Brighid getting to her feet. Her stance was shaky, but her arms burned with bright embers. She was staring straight at Graull—prepared to attack. Mòrag encouraged her mentally, trying to keep her eyes on Graull so that he wouldn’t suspect anything. He was busy spouting nonsense. Brighid shifted herself ever closer to him, fire flickering to a dangerous temperature seeing as its luminous zones burned white. While Mòrag still had a firm grip on the whipswords, she knew Brighid didn’t need them to unleash a powerful blow. If she could just distract Graull long enough, they could escape to the safety of either the undergrowth or the open battlefield where they would be assisted.

Except, when Brighid raised her arms to attack, Graull whirled around on the spot.

“No, thanks!” he cackled maniacally. He summoned his sword and shielded himself from the onslaught of flames, sending them flying into the surrounding trees. He then lashed out and knocked Brighid back for the second time.

As Mòrag called out for her blade, she then noticed that the forest caught fire very quickly. The flames, dying down to a cooler red, raged along the treetops and disintegrated every leaf it touched. 

Her eyes widened. Naturally, she was used to setting things on fire. That was part of the experience of wielding a fire blade. However, she had always been very careful not to use too many Arts in forests or meadows lest something like _this_ happen. It wasn’t Brighid’s fault. She was trying to save them both, and neither of them had foreseen Graull suddenly drawing his weapon like that. Nevertheless, if they continued to stay here, then they would suffocate.

“Brighid, to me!” Mòrag called out.

“I hear you,” Brighid said. She darted past Graull as he was distracted with adjusting his sword, and the two women made a mad dash for it. 

They winced at Graull’s enraged cry. They didn’t have any idea where they were going, only focused on getting as far away as possible from him. Surely he couldn’t catch up to them in a forest so thick. His body was deformed, and now he had the fire to deal with. His roars sent birds flying frantically into the sky, and Mòrag and Brighid heard crashing and stomping from behind them.

“What do we do, Lady Mòrag?”

“Get to a clearing,” Mòrag panted, throat already burning from the smoke. “We need more space if we are to have _any_ chance of fighting him.”

It was much more difficult to run in a thick glade. Brighid didn’t risk setting anything else on fire to clear their path, leaving them to tackle the foliage alone. Mòrag swiped through overhanging branches with her swords and Brighid kept behind her so that Graull couldn’t lunge for her. He barrelled after them, knocking down trees and flattening bushes with his boots. It was not short of terrifying to have such a lumbering beast chasing them, akin to many horror novels that Mòrag had read in her teens.

The pair were forced to stop at a cliffside. It wasn’t very tall in terms of cliffs, though it thrusted up skyward right in front of them. It was far too steep to climb. Mòrag pressed her back against it, fighting for ever thickening air. She coughed as the smog burned her lungs.

“Will you be alright to continue on?” Brighid asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“What choice do we have?” Mòrag said. “It’s either that or die to Graull, and I am not allowing my life to end in such a way.”

The devil leapt out of the undergrowth and snarled. The fire was behind them now, but the wind was blowing in their direction so all three got a mouthful of ash and smoke. Graull’s skin had been blackened, and parts of his arm had charred. The sickly smell of burning metal caused Mòrag’s body to wrack with choking splutters. This wasn’t going to end well if she could not even _breathe_ properly.

“Are you quite done?” Graull wiped his mouth with a humongous arm.

Mòrag snarled.

“Not on your life.”

The king laughed. “Your back is quite literally against a wall, and yet you still defy me? Well, I cannot say you haven’t entertained me thus far, Flamebringer, but you’re beginning to get on my nerves.”

“Then _prove_ your so called worth. If you truly are as much of a king as you say you are, let’s dance. Just you and me.”

Brighid stared at Mòrag in alarm. Was she really challenging Graull to such an intimate duel all the way out here? She believed the original plan was to reunite with the others, although they had ran in the wrong direction. They had pushed themselves further into the forest, now presumably near Neo-Gormott’s border instead. They were a dangerous distance away from the battlefield, so Brighid wondered why now, of all times, Mòrag thought was a good moment to rile Graull up. Not that she doubted her driver was powerful, but they had never come across a creature like this. They were treading on new territory with no plan.

“I won’t be playing by any fair rules, Inquisitor,” said Graull.

She scoffed. “Of course. Neither will I.”

Graull smirked at Mòrag’s sudden confidence and raised his sword. The edge of the weapon glinted in the light, contrasted by the overhead smoke. 

“Very well. Let’s see how long you’ll last before I _crush_ you.”

He lunged.

Mòrag leapt aside as his sword lodged itself into the rocky face of the cliff. Sparks shot through it, lighting up the stone in ways Mòrag had not though possible. Brighid had been forced to dodge to the other side, yet their Affinity link was strong. It had already been building power for the time they had trekked through the forest, so Mòrag could see a band of golden light between them. It was at its maximum.

She summoned Blaze. Graull’s increased aggression towards her was a risky move, but it did the job of lowering his accuracy. His attacks became sloppy, allowing her to get away to a safe distance and hail another Art. Radiance showered over him like a fire storm.

He shook the soot from his shoulders and growled. “Is that the best you can do? Simply throwing your Arts around without coming close to me? Cowardly girl.”

“Weren’t you the one who said you wouldn’t play fair?” Mòrag countered. She parried a blow and sent him reeling. “So why should I?”

“Oh, there’s a big difference between playing dirty and being a scared child.”

His sword managed to land a blow. Mòrag was thrown to the ground with a cry. Her back still hurt from being tossed against that tree earlier, so having the air knocked out of her again wasn’t doing her any good. When she tried to get up, her sides screamed in protest. Great. Now her ribs had broken.

Brighid darted to her side. “Lady Mòrag, tell me you are not injured!” she squealed, panic evident in her voice.

“My ribs,” Mòrag said weakly. She grit her teeth as she moved. 

“Please try and get up, we cannot falter now—”

The blade paused as Graull towered over them. “Indeed, lest I break the rest of them.”

He grabbed Brighid by the arm. Her flames melted the tips of his fingers right off, but Graull seemed completely oblivious to how much pain he was in. He dangled her in the air, exactly as how he’d done to Mòrag when they first met. She was helpless except to watch as Graull pressed his thumb against Brighid’s core crystal. 

“So delicate. I wonder what would happen if I simply… did _this?”_

The crystal began to crack under the pressure. Brighid cried out painfully, the sound causing Mòrag’s heart to ache. 

“Stop!” she screeched, throwing herself forwards despite the agony in her sides and stabbed his leg with her swords. This time, Graull felt it. He allowed Brighid to fall and collapsed to his knees, wailing like a dying animal. Brighid scrambled to safety and held a hand to her damaged core. It would not be enough to destroy her, obviously, though it sure as hell hurt.

They weren’t getting anywhere like this. If they wanted any chance of survival, they would need to run—fast. So Mòrag grabbed a hold of Brighid’s shoulder and hoisted her up. The two dove back into the trees, away from the small clearing and away from Graull. However, they were heading straight for the fire. They wouldn’t have a choice but to go through it. The smoke was much thicker than it was before, causing Mòrag to heave in agony. Her ribs already made it painful enough to breathe. For a moment, Mòrag became terrified that this was how she really _was_ going to die. At the mercy of her own power and Graull’s brutality.

She yelped as something snatched around her foot, causing her to trip. Mòrag winced as her face scraped against the dirt. She could already feel the blood dripping down her cheek, but didn’t have much time to think about it before she was twisted around onto her back. Graull’s hideous, warped face stared right at her.

“Running away now, are we?” he sneered unsympathetically. Both hands free of his sword, he curled his claws, melted talons of metal and burnt skin, and dug them into Mòrag’s sides. “That’s a big no-no, Flamebringer.”

She _screamed._

Brighid was already trying to get back to her, yet the pain inflicted on her was _agonising._ He squeezed without mercy, and the sharpness of his tempered armour only served to cut her skin more. Mòrag didn’t even want to think about the splintering of her bones and how they were probably puncturing her organs. How she hadn’t passed out from shock by now was beyond her.

Graull was laughing. Mòrag writhed under his grip, but he only laughed harder.

“Pathetic child! Now do you see how weak you are?!” he taunted.

“Get your fucking hands _off_ my driver.”

The king glanced up to see a stream of flames heading straight for him. They struck him in the face, incinerating whatever scales he had left on his cheeks and melting his eyes.

Even Brighid was a tad disgusted by how her powers affected him. He definitely was not omnipotent, for her was forced to release Mòrag as he threw his hands to his face. His eyes were quite literally dripping from his skull. Flames still licked at the skin around it, though Graull was too busy trying to press the palms of his hands in to relieve himself of the pain. When he finally removed them, only two empty sockets and a shitload of blood remained. Brighid felt herself gagging.

“You whore!” he cried, waving his arms blindly. 

While he was distracted, Brighid hauled Mòrag up by the underarms and dragged her away from the rampaging beast. Now blinded, Graull kept tripping over every log or branch under his feet. It would have been amusing if it weren’t for the dire situation. His giant size was beginning to betray him. He was having a difficult time getting up, and even if he did, he’d end up bumping his head against the many branches over him. Brighid wondered why she hadn’t thought of blinding him sooner.

“Lady Mòrag, _please_ respond.”

“Hurts,” Mòrag grunted, doing her best to get up. Her ribs were creaking, bones probably splintered and rubbing against each other, but she really couldn’t afford to take a break. Not when Graull was going berserk only metres away from them. If they didn’t escape, then he’d trample them. Trying to fight him alone had been a mistake. 

“We’re almost to the battlefield,” Brighid urged. “We can make it.”

They practically heaved themselves to the telltale sounds of battle. The fire had spread to the north, so they didn’t have to pass through scorching flames that they couldn’t put out. Pushing through the last of the scorched trees, they finally fell out into the grassy clearing.

The good news was, the Ardainians were winning.

Mòrag breathed a sigh of relief amidst her gasps of pain. Unresponsive core crystals were strewn everywhere alongside their deceased drivers, and Mòrag was happy to see that most of them were Urayans. Not that she wanted them all to die, but they had no choice.

Now, if only she could find Nia.

The aforementioned blade was busy healing the wounds of Mòrag’s soldiers, ranging from gashes to stabbings. Thanks to her, there had been very few casualties. She was currently wrapping a band of water to soothe a burn on a young Gormotti troop before she turned. There, right at the edge of the forest, was the unmistakable combo of black, red and blue.

“...The heck?” she murmured, mostly to herself.

Dromach withdrew from attack to glance at her. “Is something wrong, my lady?”

She narrowed her eyes. There was so much going on at once she struggled to make out whatever or whoever had tumbled out of the trees, yet there was the unmistakable glow of sapphire flames.

“Naw, it’s just—oh, Architect, _Mòrag!”_ Nia yelled as soon as her brain made the connection. She took off seeing as Zeke had been busy with Steaphan. The prince glanced up from where he had the man pinned.

“Nia?”

“It appears Mòrag and Brighid have returned,” said Dromarch.

“Oh, so that’s where they went? Sure took their time” Zeke said. He then stopped, studying the scene closer. Mòrag was on her hands and knees and Brighid was struggling to assist her. “Whoa, what _happened_ to them?”

Nia was already throwing herself to Mòrag’s side by the moment Zeke realised they were injured.

“Heal her, quickly,” said Brighid. She immediately got to work on fixing Mòrag’s splintered ribs, sewing them together with her gentle magic. The Special Inquisitor sucked in a breath. The feeling wasn’t necessarily painful, but it was definitely uncomfortable to sense her bones mending inside her own body like that. After they were repaired, Nia worked on closing up the sharp, pointed holes Graull had left with his claws. The healing energy spread through Mòrag’s entire body, her back no longer aching and her lungs recovering from inhaling so much smoke. She almost passed out in relief.

“What the bloody hell happened to you?” she heard Nia yell. Her voice sounded muffled to her throbbing ears.

Mòrag coughed before she was able to speak. “...G-graull.”

A roar caused everyone to flinch. Nia’s hands trembled as her eyes flickered upwards. “Don’t tell me…”

Graull came bounding out of the forest, tossing his head as he scrabbled at the ground. He kept twisting and turning, desperately trying to make sense of where he was despite having no eyes. In the light of the sun, even part of his nose and lip had burned off under Brighid’s heat. He was an eyesore.

“Where did you go?!” he snarled as he raked the earth up under his nails.

Nia was the first to scream in horror. “What in the _name_ of—”

“Blade Eater,” Brighid confirmed.

Graull whipped around at the noise. Nia slapped a hand to her mouth, realising her mistake, shortly followed by Brighid. The king grinned.

 _“There_ you are.”

* * *

At the other side of the battlefield, Rex did away with another section of the Urayan army. It had been no problem for him. Mythra and Pyra were still far too powerful for them to handle, despite the fact they were weakened. Rex still pondered the thought that even if they had their powers, he probably wouldn’t need to call on Pneuma’s strength anyway. These were no artificial blades or titans or Flesh eaters that they were dealing with. They were simply human.

Flames rose high into the sky. They burned a brilliant orange accompanied by Mythra’s light. Wielding them both at the same time became incredibly useful in crowded fights. Rex could parry to his front and back, leaving minimal openings.

“What’s that over there?” Pyra said after they bowled several soldiers down with a Sword Bash.

“What’s what?” said Rex.

She lifted her arm and pointed toward the right hand side forest. Rex followed her direction, eyes widening at the awful amount of smoke raising high above it.

“Smoke? A forest fire?”

“Can’t be,” Mythra stated almost idly. She stood alongside her driver and folded her arms. “The flames are blue.”

Rex gasped and tightened his grip on his sword. “Mòrag! You think she found Graull? What’s he doing way out there?”

The fire was moving away from the battlefield. He watched on as the smoke was carried away with the northern wind, taking the ash with it. Was Mòrag trapped in the forest? Was she alright? Was Brighid with her? So many questions flew around Rex’s mind that he was almost knocked straight off his feet by an attack from Poppi, seemingly aiming for the Urayan creeping up on them.

He yelped as Mythra yanked him backwards. Poppi appeared sheepish, raising her hands to her mouth in surprise. “Am so sorry!”

He’d ask her to fly up and have a look, but she couldn’t leave Tora alone with so many enemies around. There was also the matter of Azurda somewhere in the skies above them. Rex could only hope he had the sense to investigate the enormous fire, as he’d be leaving his companions in the thick of a war zone. He couldn’t afford to risk their lives, although he so badly wanted to check for Mòrag. She’d ran off alone, hadn’t she? Why would she go and do such a thing?

Maybe Nia and Zeke were over there. Rex couldn’t see them either, so his only hope was to pray that they were safe.

* * *

Now healed, Mòrag at least had the ability to leap away from Graull’s brutal attack. His sword swung in the air, narrowly missing Nia. Not that she’d suffer any real damage, but pain was pain. 

This was their chance to attack. Mòrag readied her whipswords and commanded Art after Art. Graull was defenseless as fire hailed from the heavens. It blasted his armour away, scorched holes in his skin and sent him into a howling rage. Nia stood nearby, sword at her side in case he tried something, but so far Mòrag was content doing the work. 

She’d never felt so much _anger_ in her life. Her teeth were clenched so tightly her skull ached, though she didn’t stop. She wanted to inflict as much pain on this monster as he had done to her. He had locked her in a cell without food for _four_ days. He’d threatened her brother and her country, as well as the entirety of Elysium with his ridiculous lust for power. All of this and for what, more estate to call his own? As if the entire Urayan titan and their new chunk of land weren’t enough? It boiled her blood. Graull deserved to suffer further, but she would just be wasting her energy in charring a heap of bones.

Mòrag screamed in fury as she unleashed her final Art—the Art of Hellfire. It was suitable to act as Graull’s demise. It lashed through the hair, hissing and coiling like a snake as it wrapped around its target.

The surrounding Ardainians looked on in horror. Even Graull’s loyalists had stopped to watch as their king burned alive right in front of them. Graull’s screeching had died down by now seeing as his vocal cords had likely been destroyed, and he crumpled to the floor in a smouldering pile.

It was over.

His loyalists still had the energy to bound forth to restrain Nia and Brighid by attacking them with their blades. Except Mòrag wasn’t having _any_ of that. Their king had died, thus rendering them unable to strike back. She turned her sights away from Graull, still furious and high on adrenaline, and raised her arm to attack them.

“Get away from them!” Some of them were caught in her fury, yet she failed to notice movement from behind her.

A haunting snarl froze her scalding blood and chilled the excitement right out of her. Mòrag almost stumbled. The worst of the worst occurred, and she did not want to come to terms with it.

Graull was still alive.

Her gasp turned into a whimper as he grabbed her by the neck. Standing again, he raised her up and Mòrag felt the world spin as her feet left the ground. She flailed and kicked, but Graull only tightened his grip.

“It’s going to take more than that to kill me,” he rasped, almost unrecognizable. 

Mòrag had never seen anything so _terrifying_ before. What remained of Graull’s structure was simply a black, humanoid giant. All traces of skin and armour had been done away with, leaving his muscle bloody and exposed. Strings of the horrible stuff were hanging off his body, and Mòrag swore she even saw the edges of bone in some places. 

Perhaps the worst thing was the smell. Mòrag would have gagged if she were able. The scent of rotten, burnt flesh and singed metal filled her nose and the quick lungfuls of air she had managed to get before he had wrapped his hand around her throat. Mòrag scrabbled at it, peeling off more skin as she did so, though by now Graull’s nerves had been singed completely. The only thing keeping him alive was the core crystal pulsing faintly in his chest.

“Any last words before you die in front of your friends?”

Nia and Brighid, still fighting against his loyalists, were screaming Mòrag’s name. In the distance, Zeke, Rex and Tora had stopped whatever they were doing and were pushing their way through the crowds to try and reach her, but they were too far away. They wouldn’t arrived by the time Graull squeezed, not even if Poppi flew straight at them, thus ending her life.

She could hear them all shouting for her. Time stopped as she stared into Graull’s eyes—or lack thereof. The amount of memories that flooded her brain were not countable, but she did manage to envision one in particular. 

Her uncle—the dearly departed emperor—and herself with their chessboard. The pieces were strewn everywhere and were too blurred to make out—except two. Her own black queen, and her uncle’s white king. She remembered having to sacrifice it to win her first game. Her own realisation at what the queen represented had hit her hard that day. How ruling was not about simply conquering, but sacrifices as well. Was this it, then? The ultimate sacrifice she would have to make to save her king?

Mòrag found herself to be… somewhat sad. She would gladly give her life for Niall and would do so with a smile, yet something about this situation made her heart pang with grief. This wasn’t right. Simply perishing in Graull’s grasp after all she had been through just didn’t seem like the right thing to do. She had all but given up trying to escape, her limbs twitching beneath her. She wasn’t even thinking about his stupid, mocking question. Mòrag had never been one for dramatic endings. So she used the last of her strength to move her eyes, drifting her gaze down to the core crystal. It was a faint amber, contrasting greatly with the black surrounding it. It was… quite beautiful The source of his newfound, unstable power.

The source. The only thing tying him to this world.

...That was _it._

Things did not have to end so bleakly! A sudden light lit up within her soul, igniting the internal fire that longed to survive. Yes, ruling did require sacrifices and Mòrag was content with that, although today was not a day for such a thing. Today, the queen would _conquer._

Mòrag gripped her whipsword. The second had been dropped when she was yanked upwards, but she still had her right. 

“Yes,” she wheezed. She then drew her arm back, the blade still coated with flickering embers. _“Checkmate.”_

She stabbed it straight through the crystal.

Graull didn’t scream. Mòrag fully expected him to, but instead he was motionless as the crystal cracked and shattered. Its pieces fell from his chest and scattered across the ground, splintering into tiny shards as the whipsword destroyed it. 

Everyone had ceased moving. They all stared, horrified, as Graull finally released her and toppled backwards. Mòrag fell onto her backside, but the air wasn’t knocked out of her. She was fully aware of the king finally, _finally_ dying before her. There was no way he could have survived. There was nothing tying his charred remains to the world except Eurica’s crystal. Mòrag hoped that the blade’s spirit was finally freed in breaking it. 

It was checkmate. It truly was. While there were still other pieces on the board, their king had been cornered. Graull had ultimately lost. Mòrag, in her delirium, envision the black and white squares that made up the battlefield and gazed upon the bloodshed.

“You… you did it,” Nia whispered breathlessly.

Rex and the others had managed to catch up to them. Zeke dropped his sword in shock, and Pandoria clung onto his arm. Both Tora and Poppi were left speechless alongside the Aegis pair. They stood around whatever was left of Graull and simply gaped. 

“You actually _defeated_ him!” said Rex.

Yes, she did. Mòrag looked from him to them. Even the battle against Malos and Jin hadn’t been this gorey and disgusting. Heck, until now, she had no idea how deeply Brighid’s fire could burn. She’d never had to _burn_ someone like that before. It had been so brutal she felt almost heartless. Perhaps she would have if Graull hadn't been so despicable.

The impact of what had just occurred flooded over her.

Mòrag collapsed to her knees, allowing her sword to fall. Brighid was immediately at her side as dry sobs wracked her body. She’d saved her country. She’d saved _Elysium._

“The usurper king is dead!” Brighid called once she knew Mòrag was relatively unharmed. She stood, eyes gleaming as she surveyed the loyalists that had the misfortune of surviving the battle. “The war is over. Graull’s forces have been defeated.”

Cheers erupted from the Ardainians after a long period of stunned silence. Rex’s group hadn’t moved, still too shocked to take in what had actually happened. Mòrag had killed Graull almost entirely by herself. They’d seen Nia rush over to assist, and Brighid had played an enormous part, but Mòrag was the one to run her sword through him. Everyone owed it to her for Graull’s demise. Mòrag, however, remained on her knees, trying to process what she had just done. Yes, she’d saved them, though her mind was currently battling between feeling alleviation and mortification. That had to be one of the hardest things she’d ever done.

She gasped as Brighid placed a hand on her unarmoured shoulder. “It’s over, Lady Mòrag. Mor Ardain is safe.”

That was all she needed to hear as she sank into the blade’s arms, crying with sheer relief. 

“Thank goodness.”


	27. King, Queen and Slave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war won, Mòrag spends some time with her brother as she processes her thoughts.

“How would you say I fared, father?”

Smiling, Eandraig raised his glass. “Marvelously. I couldn’t be more proud.”

Mòrag nodded, pleased with his answer. She finally felt relaxed enough to take a seat on the lavish chairs. They were red, but brightened to an orange thanks to the nearby fireplace. She had her own wine glass although elected to ignore it. One couldn’t exactly taste things in their own mind.

It was the same one. The same scenario Mòrag would childishly conjure after a successful mission. While the mission varied from taking down petty criminals to winning full blown battles, Mòrag felt a sense of joy all the same. Despite her father being long dead, it was so wonderful to hear his imaginary words of praise in her head. Mòrag glowed with adoration.

Eandraig appeared much like she remembered him. It had been 21 years, but his face was still clear. Various portraits hanging in the palace helped. He was wearing his royal garb of white—similar to his brother’s, though not quite as decorative. His sash was adorned with medals and the epaulettes shimmered in the dim lighting. Mòrag crossed her legs as she sat next to him, noticing that he was staring straight at her. Normally, in her imagined scenarios, he was often reading or gazing at the fire. It was rare for him to pay full attention to her.

“You’ve achieved something that I could never hope to achieve in my lifetime, Mòrag,” he said softly. Mòrag raised an eyebrow.

“How do you mean?” she asked.

Her father leaned forwards. “There’s no need for modesty. You’ve almost single-handedly won a war.”

Mòrag’s cheeks dusted pink and she turned her head away. “...You’re mistaken. I had the assistance of my companions.”

“Of course, I am not denying that. Your friends have strengthened you to new levels. In fact, I dare say they’ve unlocked parts of you you didn’t even know existed. I will forever be grateful to them for that, but please, give yourself some credit. Graull was not an easy enemy. You faced him alone and did not falter despite his brutality. You are a true victor.”

They found themselves standing now, the warm hearth and living room gone in the blink of an eye. This was normal for her, so Mòrag paid no heed to the now dark landscape. Eandraig lifted a hand and gently cupped her face. His thumb brushed just under her eyelid, and Mòrag failed to stop a tear from escaping. Why, exactly, she wasn’t quite sure seeing as this was her imagination, but it stirred up the repressed emotions deep in her core. Her father then trailed his hand down her skin and removed it.

“When you return to your life, I want you to know that. Can you do that for me?”

“...Yes, da.”

She then squeezed her eyes shut as Eandraig repeated the last words he had ever spoken to her in person.

“That’s my princess.”

Mòrag’s eyes snapped open. She jolted, creaking her bed in the process. She had returned to reality.

She hadn’t fallen asleep. Sometimes she did when having these intense daydreaming sessions, becoming so ravelled and entwined in them that she never realised how much time would pass by until she awoke hours later. Lately, it hadn’t been as much as a problem as it had done when she was younger yet Mòrag allowed herself the time to disconnect from the world. She thought she deserved it.

The war had been won. 

Several days had went by since she had defeated Graull. It had all happened so fast that it blurred together in Mòrag’s mind, becoming a rolling tape of memories that went by too quickly. Even if she concentrated, all she could hear was the sound of roaring fire and Graull’s horrific screeching. It was going to take a long, long time to overcome such an event, but Mòrag knew that even before it had occurred. Such was the life of the Special Inquisitor.

Promptly after Graull’s death, they had done their best to round up any prisoners to take in and dealt with the Urayans that chose to surrender. It was a messy task, and since Mòrag was too shaken up to assist, Brighid had gone to take her back home. There was so much chaos surrounding the ending of a war that it had fallen onto the shoulders of Niall and the Senate to take care of, and Brighid had been thankful. Mòrag needed the rest. Once arriving back at Hardhaigh, Niall barely had any time to see his sister before they had been separated. It broke Mòrag’s heart to hear his protests, but she was grateful she was at least _ alive _ to see him again. Graull had failed to tear them apart, and she would relish in that fact for as long as she lived. What a fool he had been.

She rubbed her eyes. Mòrag stared up at the ceiling and then over to the wall where she kept the stash of her father’s swords. She still needed to hang them up. Maybe next week would be a good time, as a sort of celebration to her victory. Somehow, Mòrag didn’t feel up to it.

She had won them the war, so why did she feel so deflated? Her doctor had stated it was simply exhaustion, and he definitely wasn’t wrong about that, though Mòrag wasn’t so sure. She should be elated. Overjoyed. Yet she found herself back in the same situation as she had been when depressed—holed up in her room again.

A knock on the door startled her. Mòrag felt inclined to ignore it, but she knew full well she couldn’t. So she opened her mouth to squeak out, “Come in.”

“Lady Mòrag.”

It was Brighid.

Her blade made her way over. She sat on the edge of the bed, and Mòrag rolled around to face her. She forced herself to smile, though it was easier than she anticipated.

Brighid offered her a warm glance. “I thought I’d give you an update on the current situation.”

Still, Brighid waited for permission. Mòrag nodded and sat up slightly. “Go ahead.”

“Uraya appears to be somewhat stable considering the loss of their monarch. Their council have come to terms and decided that forming an oligarchy would be the best course of action until a suitable heir can be chosen.”

“That was fast,” said Mòrag.

“Indeed,” said Brighid. “It seems they had been keen to deal with the aftermath of Graull for some time. And better news yet: most of them appear to be grateful for your intervention.”

Mòrag found herself snorting in amusement. It was uncouth of her, but maybe the impact of such a traumatic series of events had made her cold. So she allowed the heat of Brighid’s fire to warm her both figuratively and literally, hoping to trick her subconscious into melting the ice around her heart. She was safe to do so, now.

“I see. I provide there will be no counter attacks, then?”

“It is very doubtful. Uraya are glad to be rid of such a tyrant.”

“And what of the Senate?”

Surprise flashed across Brighid’s features before being replaced by her usual calmness. “They are still very busy. Since it’s only been a few days, they are… struggling with the amount of work.”

It made sense. Wars and their outcomes were messy businesses. Mòrag was glad that they had won in the first place. At this rate, Uraya would most likely be indebted to Mor Ardain for their mistakes (or rather, _Graull’s_ mistakes but the law wouldn’t see it that way), and that meant they could get something out of it. Knowing Niall, he probably wouldn’t ask for anything. He had never been greedy. It was what made him good at his job—knowing when to draw the line and step back.

She figured she should ask about him too. “Is His Majesty well?”

“Yes, although he would very much like to see you.”

“Help me get up.”

Brighid darted to the other side of the bed when Mòrag swung her legs over. She wasn’t injured, not after Nia had seen to her, though she was very tired. Getting to her feet was almost overwhelming. With her blade holding her, Mòrag stretched and went over to pull some shoes and a jacket on.

To their surprise, Niall was not in the throne room. Some of his advisors were present, alongside two members of the Senate, but they appeared to be on some sort of break. 

“We enquire as to where His Majesty is,” said Mòrag. 

The advisor jumped. “Special Inquisitor! You’re up.” As Mòrag glared at him, he shuffled his feet. “Uh, His Majesty is in his chambers. I can send a message if you’d like—”

“No, there is no need. That will be all.”

Brighid still accompanied her all the way to the top of the palace. Not that there were many floors, yet they still hadn’t installed enough elevators to go around. It would be quicker to take the stairs to Niall’s room. She clambered up, one step at a time, and found herself in a long hallway. She turned to Brighid.

“I… think it’s best if I see him alone.”

She paused, and then nodded. “Of course. I’ll wait here for you.”

They teetered on the verge of having a little disagreement on that, Mòrag unsure of just how long she would be speaking with Niall, and Brighid worrying about leaving her alone after what she had been through. Mòrag still flinched at shadows. The Special Inquisitor placed a hand on Brighid’s shoulder and sighed, though allowed her to remain in place. Niall’s room wasn’t far away, at least. The guards were there, looming like decorative suits of armour, but Mòrag had never been fazed by them. They saluted when she arrived.

“Your Grace.”

“I wish to see the Emperor.”

They glanced at each other. “His Majesty is… feeling a tad reserved right now, ma’am.”

Mòrag’s mouth twitched. “Reserved?”

“The war took its toll on him. If you like, I could ask if he is willing to see you, although sadly there is no guarantee.”

She agreed. The guard hesitantly turned and knocked on the door. There was a long silence, but they eventually heard a soft voice beckoning him inside. Mòrag felt herself become concerned. Was Niall alright? Had she made a mistake in keeping to herself these past several days? She didn’t have much of a choice in the matter, considering Niall had been whisked away to attend to his duties in sorting out the mess left for them. 

The guard disappeared behind the solid wooden door. There was the sound of murmuring, and Mòrag wrung her hands. Would Niall send her away?

The door suddenly slammed open as soon as the thought passed through her mind. Niall had a tight grip on the handle, blue eyes wide as plates and his mouth hung open in a gasp.

Mòrag instinctively bowed. “Your Maj—”

“Mòrag!” Niall cried. He darted forwards and threw his arms around her. She grunted from the surprise attack. Still, she moved to wrap her arms around him, but Niall was trembling. It brought her back to many weeks ago when they had shared a similar experience. In fact, it was the exact same. No wonder the guards were worried. Amongst the shaking and sniffling, Niall muttered into her blouse, “Thank the Architect you’re alright.”

* * *

“Did something happen?” Mòrag asked tentatively. 

Niall shook his head, burying his head into her stomach. “No. I’ve just been worried.”

The two siblings were lying on Niall’s bed, dead-centre of its enormous mattress. Of course Mòrag had suggested sitting at the balcony, but Niall was such a wreck they opted for a more casual way of being together. Mòrag felt herself sinking into the pillows as she held Niall in her arms. His legs were folded up, clinging onto her as if his life depended on it. At first, Mòrag felt awkward at such an informal display of affection, but they’d both been through a lot. Niall wasn’t sure if she was coming back _ alive _ . Showing a bit of TLC in the privacy of his own quarters wouldn’t do any harm.

He had only stopped trembling once ten minutes had passed. Mòrag felt apprehensive. He may have said nothing happened, though he was clearly distraught. She held him tighter.

“Well, as you can see, I am alive and well,” she said.

“But you could have died.”

“...I suppose so.”

“I just…” Niall cut himself off for a second, swallowing thickly, “I just wish I could have done more. What good is an Emperor if he cannot lead his subjects?”

“You did,” Mòrag replied. “We owe it all to your calm direction given in a time of need.”

Her brother scoffed. “It was hardly my direction. It was the Senate or my advisors who pushed all of the major decisions. I was merely another person in the way.”

“That’s not true—”

“But it  _ is, _ Mòrag!”

His sudden shout made her flinch. As Niall had his face pressed against her, it could have been louder, though it was the intensity that was startling. Niall  _ never  _ shouted. He couldn’t afford to. He had never been a boisterous child anyway, but as the Emperor, he was expected to remain as civil and poised as possible, at all times. Even more so than Mòrag was. It was just a good thing there was nobody around to witness it.

Niall’s voice broke off into a whisper as he removed his face and turned over so that he was facing the ceiling. “I never should have become the monarch.”

Mòrag pursed her lips. 

“I still stand by what I said,” he continued. “It should have been you. You were  _ born _ for it. I came last minute. It was a poor and hasty decision, and I regret it even though I had no say.”

“We’ve been through this,” Mòrag said softly. “You are an official member of the Ardanach line.”

“We share the same blood. I see not how it makes any difference,” Niall huffed. He was silent as he shifted positions, now on his side so that Mòrag could see his face. His eyebrows were pinched together, mouth turned down into a concentrated frown. It was the expression he wore whenever he thought deeply. Mòrag found it best not to interrupt him during these kind of moments, so she said nothing else and waited. She could almost see the gears turning in his head. As his mouth twitched, the imaginary gears shuddered to a halt and began spinning again once he recovered. 

Then, he moved his gaze to her. Mòrag couldn’t read it. The eyebrows had relaxed, and so had the frown, yet his eyes were narrowed in thought.

“I know I promoted you to Special Inquisitor six years ago, but how do  _ you _ feel about it?”

Mòrag blinked twice. “It is an honour to hold such an upstanding position.”

“No, I mean, how does it make you  _ feel? _ Is it enjoyable? Do you like it? Is it something you look forward to every day, or do you feel like you could be doing something else?”

“That’s a… strange question, Niall.”

The teen pouted. “Just be honest.”

It seemed his silver tongue had loosened. He would never speak so informally in any other setting, but again, Mòrag reminded himself they were on a break. Here, in this room, they were cousins turned siblings. They were only having a little family talk.

So she thought about it. Actually _ thought _ about it. Her and Brighid had discussed this several times. What Mòrag would have done if she had been born as someone else, or born in a different social rank, or what if she really had become the reigning monarch. Would that make her any happier? She knew there was a deep void inside her. She had openly contemplated on it after they had defeated Malos. There was something missing, a lack of understanding of herself and her role in the world. Mòrag wouldn’t outright call herself a believer in fate, especially after finding out Klaus himself had once been a man who had made a mistake, but it would be a lie to say that she felt empty without a destiny. 

She mulled on her final answer. “Well, it’s difficult. I feel that… there is something missing, I suppose. I don’t really know. I spent so long believing that ruling Mor Ardain was my one true fate.”

“Maybe because it is,” Niall muttered. 

Mòrag chuckled. “I never took you as one to believe in pre-determined circumstances.”

“I don’t usually,” said Niall, “though I feel the same way. That I could be doing something else with my life. I’ve accepted ruling as my duty, but I want something… more, if I’m going to be selfish for once.”

So, Niall understood? Was that a good thing, or did it just increase her worry? It hurt to realise that Niall was possibly unhappy.

“It’s not selfish,” Mòrag said in a whisper. “You’re allowed to  _ want _ things, Niall. It’s what makes us human. Why don’t you tell me what you’d want to do if you weren’t Emperor?”

It was then his turn to chuckle. “Well, remember when we went to Gormott to meet the Chancellor? I enjoyed it. I loved the architecture and the culture. I think I’d ike to go travelling. After all, we have so much of Elysium left to explore.”

“That is a good answer.” Mòrag smiled in pleasure.

“What about you?”

“Hm?”

“What would you do if you weren’t Special Inquisitor?”

Ah, yes. Her answers to this question would often vary. Brighid had told her not to think so much about fate, that her choices were what guided her life. Was that true? She hadn’t chosen to be born into this family. However, she had chosen to become a driver and go into the Ardainian army. Niall had promoted her, but she was only too glad to serve him directly. 

“I’ve never really… made a decision on that.”

She felt Niall turn over again to stare elsewhere. “OK, then what do you enjoy?”

“I like helping people.” It was plain and simple. Mòrag gained the greatest joy when she was able to make others’ lives easier, and that joy doubled if it made Niall happy. She loved living for other people. Of course, too much of that had severely impacted her, but if she learned how to control it so that she wouldn’t crumble under the pressure, then she would happy with just that. However, her mind moved on to life’s other pleasures. “I like to strategise. I enjoy playing chess, and I enjoy learning. I very much like it when hard work and effort pays off. I like to see growth in myself and people around me.”

Mòrag watched as a smile spread across Niall’s pink lips. His eyes drifted shut and he threw an arm over his face. “Ever the most charitable. Mòrag, you just keep proving me right. You would make a fantastic Empress.”

Warmth flared under her skin. “I thank you for the compliment.”

“I don’t care what the Senate says. I’ll find a way to make them listen. I’ll make them acknowledge you. You’re a damn hero.”

“Language,” Mòrag chided. After the two stared at each other, they burst into a fit of giggles.

“Language?” Niall echoed, giving her shoulder a light nudge. “I’m 17.”

“I’ve decided. You can’t swear until you’re my age.”

She smacked his hand away as he went for another push. “Oh, so as soon as I say you’d be a good Empress, you already start passing laws.”

Mòrag laughed as she jabbed his side. Niall gasped and doubled over. His ribs had always been extra sensitive, the first point she would go for when they got into tickle fights at a young age. It was amazingly nostalgic. It may not be their original home, though Mòrag found herself back in her teen body wrestling Niall as they once did. He guffawed at her girly squeal when he went for her legs. It would have been embarrassing in any other situation, but Mòrag laughed it off.

The tickling turned into a tussle, and while Mòrag would always win them, this time Niall bested her. He grabbed both of her wrists in his hands and held them in the air. 

“Is that the first time you’ve won?” Mòrag asked, only very slightly out of breath.

“I believe so!” Niall said proudly.

The siblings grinned and allowed themselves to rest. Mòrag didn’t realise how letting go and being childish could feel so refreshing. Years of stiffness and stoic scowls were finally lifted from her shoulders. When they recovered, Niall held a determined smile.

“I’ll make them see. I promise you.”

She didn’t believe it would go his way, but she appreciated the lengths he would go through for her. “I don’t need to be Empress. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”

“Well, it’s not like I enjoy being Emperor. There’s a hundred other things I’d rather be doing, but that’s besides the point. You could change this country around for the better. You single-handedly killed a tyrant. You lead your soldiers into war, valuing each and every one of them. Believe me, Mòrag, when I say you’d be the Empress Mor Ardain needs. Then again, I suppose that would be narcissistic of me to assume what you desire. Would you even want to be Empress?”

_ Would _ she? Mòrag’s smile faded as the question clouded her mind like a thick fog. This was what she was raised to be for the first nine years of her life. When that was taken away from her, her world had been shattered and her meaning for existence almost destroyed. If, in some fantasy land, she  _ did _ become Empress, would that make her happier?

She didn’t know. Her expression was enough of an answer for her brother, and he put his hand on her arm. “Well, either way, you would be a blessing for Elysium.”

“I think I should leave you to your rest, Majesty,” Mòrag said after a long period of silence. Niall looked tired, and to be honest, so was she. He nodded.

“Indeed. You should go and see your mother. She’s been worried sick for you. And don’t forget, no work.”

Mòrag returned her hand to his. “As you wish.”

* * *

Upon concluding her meeting with Lady Sverre, Mòrag dragged herself back to her room. As Niall had said, Lady Sverre embraced her in a dramatic flair of tears and wailing. She had calmed down after half an hour, and they were able to share a conversation. It was honestly draining, and while Mòrag wanted nothing more besides to fall asleep, she forced herself to take a seat at her desk.

She needed to document the battle. It was history in the making as the shortest war Mor Ardain had ever been a part of, and she needed to recite every single detail before they leaked out of her head. While she obviously wouldn’t be able to finish it tonight, she could at least get started.

Most of it was mundane. She recalled the screeching siren, and the flurry of soldiers trying to get ready. She detailed moving past Falach with her companions and how she split herself off with only Brighid to confront Graull alone.

Even just writing that monster’s name was enough to bring on shivers. During the past two days, Mòrag had suppressed any memories of the event, so it hurt to bring them back so suddenly. Everything was so… vivid. The eerie silence of the forest. Stumbling upon Graull’s hideous, mutated form of engorged flesh and buried crystal. Swallowing as the ink bled from her pen, she moved on to the words shared between them. She needed to document  _ everything. _

Much of their fight had gone by in a blur, but Mòrag wrote as much as she was able before feeling bile at the back of her throat. The way Graull attacked her and Brighid, the burning smell of his flesh, the sickening crack of her ribs as she was thrown to the floor—it was too much.

She put down her pen. Mòrag raced to the restroom to prepare for the torrent of vomit she could feel in her system, though nothing came out as she held herself against the wall. Her skin was hot and clammy, and her legs trembled, but she thankfully held any puke down.

Getting into bed was a delight. It did not take long for her to fall asleep despite the haunting images of Graull at the back of her mind. It was just good to know that her country was safe, Niall was safe and  _ she _ was safe. Permanently damaged, but safe. Graull may have scarred her for life, though he had lost in the end, and that was so satisfying that Mòrag smirked. She didn’t let an Aegis or flesh eaters get the best of her, and the same would go for a mere Urayan gone mad. 

Special Inquisitor or not,  _ Empress _ or not, Mòrag would not die so easily.

That night, she dreamt of crowns and furred mantles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter got that persona 5 title, yo. anyway, since it's now december, im gonna get to work on these last few chapters. i am so excited for them. i predict 3 more after this, to hit a nice comfortable 30 in total. my fondness for even numbers is coming through.


	28. Deus et Patria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niall asks a shocking request of Rex, later bringing it to light to the Senate.

Rex trembled as he put down the report. He raised a hand to his mouth, swallowing silently and taking a step back. That had been a difficult read.

After about two weeks or so passed since Graull’s death, he was finally given access to Mòrag’s hand-written document recording the battle. It was an official major event in Ardainian and Urayan history, now. As a primary member of her entourage, Rex was granted permission to such a classified file. It would be published eventually, with some personal details taken out, but part of him wished he hadn’t read it.

It was long. Rex noticed that in several places the ink smudged or it appeared as if the pen had dug in too hard, and that made him shudder. Much of it were events he remembered. Mòrag briefly went over their march across Falach and previously being dispatched abruptly. It had all happened so fast that he hardly recalled it himself. The young driver moved onto the parts which he had missed, which had been Mòrag’s unfortunate encounter with the tyrant king.

_ ‘He was holding Brighid tightly. At first, I could not fathom what manner of beast I had stumbled across, but the horror I felt was sudden when I realised Graull himself was standing before me. A lumbering monster of deformed flesh and armour, he was beyond a blade eater.’ _

Her description of him was short yet effective. Rex could  _ see _ the fear in the words. He’d witnessed what was left of Graull when he managed to get away from the main battle, but he had not seen him beforehand—the form that only Mòrag and Brighid had the displeasure of viewing. He must have been hideous.

The writing skipped past much of their shared dialogue. Mòrag wrote about the action more than anything else, detailing the brutal assault both driver and blade went through together. It had been a miracle she had survived such an ordeal. It was a brutality not even Malos and his flesh eaters had inflicted upon them. They were brutes, yes, although they never had the sheer level of  _ sadism _ as Graull. Rex was flabbergasted to know that such cruel people existed.  _ How _ they could exist. In the end, he had to accept that such people were not monsters. They weren’t always Aegis’ or flesh eaters, but just humans. Did that scare him more?

Humans were complex. Only now, in his late teens, was Rex realising that. He had always been one to think basically—not in an unintelligent way, though he often overlooked the finer details. That was something Mòrag was an expert in. She had always known people were unpredictable. It was why she was so good at her job.

He had not seen her much. In fact, none of them had. If she wasn’t resting, she was kept busy with official business. It was all legal affairs Rex had no knowledge of. Pyra said he probably shouldn’t interfere, so he didn’t.

He was beginning to miss Mòrag when Nia approached him outside of the palace grounds, under the same gazebo Mòrag and her mother had shared when they had first met. Nia came alone, Dromarch elsewhere. Rex made himself smile even though he didn’t particularly feel like it.

“What are you doing, out here by yourself? Where’s Pyra and Mythra?” Nia asked, hands on her hips.

“Just felt like thinking to myself.”

Nia grinned. “Don’t do that much, do you?”

“Uncalled for,” Rex replied jokingly. His laugh turned into a sigh, and he leant his head back. “So much has happened in these past few months. I can’t believe we just went through an entire war.”

“The shortest war in Ardainian history, actually,” said Nia. “I heard it’s been informally dubbed the ‘War of Kings’, but they’re taking the name into consideration.”

“I’ve never heard of a war lasting only…” Rex paused to do the maths in his head, “what, five months? Six?”

“It was late summer-ish when it started, and now winter’s on its way. So, yeah. Sounds about right. Time flies, eh? We just gotta be grateful that brute is dead and Uraya aren’t trying to counter attack. This could have ended up way worse than it is. I read about a war involving Mor Ardain that lasted only short of 70 years.”

Rex shivered, partially due to the slight chill in the air and partially due to imagining a war lasting that long. “That’s an entire lifetime.”

He pushed the thoughts of this recent war lasting almost three quarters of a century. He didn’t want to imagine it. The amount of death and agony such an event would cause brought an aching weight upon his heart. While that war might have been a long time ago, it wasn’t needed. Rex was a firm believer that no war at all was needed, and Graull only deepened his belief further. In the end, it solved nothing and only served to spark more conflict later down the line. Elysium was supposed to be a remedy to that, and all he could do now was hope that whatever leader Uraya got next would uphold that.

As the depressing imagery drifted through his mind, Rex decided to change the topic. “Hey, Nia, have you seen Mòrag lately?”

The Gormotti frowned. “No. I think she’s still busy. Y’know, I worry about her. Graull… messed her up pretty bad. Her ribs were smashed in to hell when I got to her. Don’t worry, I’ve double checked since we got back to Hardhaigh, but I can’t heal trauma.”

Trauma. The word even _sounded_ upsetting. Rex didn’t know much about Mòrag’s past life or her inner feelings, though he couldn’t forget how she cried in front of him. She was carrying so much baggage that nobody knew about, and Rex didn’t expect her to ever tell him although he hoped she would some day get it out of her system. He wasn’t an expert in mental health or knowing how to healthily express some emotions, but he did know it would wear her down even more than it already had. Especially after the horrendous stress she had been put under, what with dealing with the war, organising official business and being trapped at Sevind Palace.

“Man,” Rex muttered as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I hope she’ll be alright.”

“Driver of the Aegis, Nia,” came a soft voice.

The two whirled around. There, dressed in simpler robes than they were used to seeing him in, stood Niall. He looked tired. He still wore his usual smile and straight posture, but it was obvious he had been overworked. He nodded his head.

“Oh, Emperor Niall!” Rex said as he clumsily bowed at the waist. Nia followed suit in a more graceful curtsey. 

“I’m sorry to disturb you.”

“Nonsense, Your Majesty. We weren’t busy,” said Nia.

Niall appeared relieved. “Excellent, well, if I may have a moment of your time, I would value your opinion on something.”

“Sure, I mean—yes. Yes, of course, that’s fine.” Rex flushed in embarrassment. Nia rolled her eyes.

As the Emperor took a seat next to Rex, he pressed a fist against his cheek. His eyes drifted shut as if he was about to fall asleep on the spot, and while Rex thought he was quite literally about to do so, a sigh reminded them that he was still awake.

“I’ve been thinking about this whole ordeal constantly,” he began, voice low. “I cannot get the thought out of my mind. About the war, about myself, and about my sister.”

“Don’t blame yourself for anything,” Nia reassured gently, sitting opposite him and planting her elbows on the table. They didn’t need to worry about being formal around him. They’d all joked around together on several occasions, and Niall was not stuck up like many other members of royalty. He was Rex’s age, and often showed that when out of the watchful eye of the Senate or his advisors.

“Well, it’s not necessarily that. I just… I cannot help wondering how different things would have ended if Mòrag had been in my place.”

Rex blinked in surprise. “You mean if she were Empress?”

Nodding in confirmation, Niall’s eyes cracked open again. “Indeed. She was meant to before I was born, after all. She spent the first nine years of her life believing that was her fate, and I still believe it is. It’s only ever been done once in history, but I would like to renounce the throne in her stead.”

The pair’s jaws dropped open. 

“Whoa, whoa, Your Majesty!” Rex spluttered. He waved his arms in front of him, hardly believing what he had heard. Niall renounce the throne? Was he even  _ allowed _ to do that? “Er, hold on a second! Why would you want to do that?”

Likewise, Nia snapped her mouth shut only to open it afterwards. “Is that possible?”

Niall didn’t seem fazed by either reaction. He still had his gaze pressed firmly on the table. Still in the habit of biting his nails, he self consciously hid his fingers within his fists as to cover the red skin. It was a miracle that his advisors hadn’t noticed how bad it had become recently. Still, he tried to lift his head to justify his words. 

“I know it seems out of the blue, but I’ve wanted to do this since the beginning. I couldn’t because of the Senate, although I’ve been researching. It has happened once before, and it can happen again. Not to mention we are living in Elysium now. I feel like it is time for a change of tradition. Rulers should be chosen based on their capability of leadership, not by their bloodline.”

Rex mulled it over. Niall had a point, but still.

“Does Mòrag _want_ to be Empress?”

“I haven’t had a straight answer from her,” Niall said.

“So you don’t know?” said Nia.

The Emperor shook his head but turned to Rex anyway. “I’m asking you, Rex, as the Driver of the Aegis and our saviour of Alrest to support me in this endeavour. I am certain the Senate would take your opinion into account. I will not force you, seeing as Mòrag is a close friend of yours, and I would never push Mòrag into this role either, though I feel like she would shine on the throne. She saved us from catastrophe. She is possibly the greatest hero to ever grace Mor Ardain and I loathe the thought she would miss her chance at dragging this country out of the mud. We have much to learn and recover, and I just know Mòrag is the only person suitable for the job.”

“I mean, I see your point, but you’re not a bad ruler, Niall! I mean, Your Majesty.”

Nia folded her arms and hummed. “Do you not like your job?”

The young king laughed. “Not really.”

They thought about it. Both Rex and Nia could see Niall’s reasoning. They knew little of Ardainian tradition, but were aware that it ran on a constitutional monarchy. The Ardanach bloodline ruled supreme. There were many cadet branches, including the Ladairs, who would become place holders should an Ardanach be unavailable. Neither Rex nor Nia could say either were big on royalty or their traditions, and Mor Ardain was not their country. Was it right for them to step in and shove their opinions into the mix? Even though Niall had asked them, it made them uncomfortable.

Not to mention Mòrag didn’t know about this. Whether she wanted to be Empress or not was beyond all of them. Niall was making a very risky move here.

“With all due respect, sire, I think you should get Mòrag’s permission first,” Nia said after several minutes of silence.

“I understand,” Niall replied, “yet Mòrag is quite adamant on obeying tradition. She may want this position although she would never admit it. However, I will not demand it without her consent. I am instead considering announcing it in a state meeting, with your support if asked. Mòrag can decline, obviously, but if she is open to the idea, I will push it further.”

A state meeting could mean anything. Niall clarified when Rex asked for more information.

“It would involve a gathering of the Senate members, myself, the Special Inquisitor and anyone else I wish to invite. For now, I am only confident in inviting you, Rex, but if it goes well then I will gather everyone’s opinion.”

“Can we really just change the Senate’s mind like that?” Nia asked.

“Oh, that’s doubtful. It would take a lot of work to convince them, but with your approval and perhaps a public vote, it is most certainly possible.”

Rex chewed on his lip. “What about you stepping down?”

“It is not advised, and they would openly oppose, but I cannot be _made_ to rule. A previous Emperor has stepped down in the past out of personal preference. It was argued against although there is no explicit law that an Ardanian monarch cannot opt out of ruling.”

Nia grinned, small canines poking out of her mouth. “You sound very confident, Majesty.”

They watched as Niall’s cheeks glowed a faint pink. “I want the very best for my sister. She has saved us all a second time, from both a tyrant and a monster. I can only see Mor Ardain ascending with her at its wheel.”

They’d discussed this back in Neo-Gormott’s border camp. No one would deny Mòrag would be a magnificent ruler. She was the Special Inquisitor already, and she aced her job. Nobody could do it better than her, so her as the Empress was not an obscene thought. And if what Niall said was true, that a previous monarch was able to step down despite tradition and obligation, then who was to say Niall couldn’t do the same? If both he and Mòrag agreed, of course. 

It was farfetched, but both Nia and Rex gave a small nod of their heads. 

* * *

Once three more weeks had passed, Niall held the state meeting.

Mòrag frowned in anticipation. She had been given no forewarning of this, and could only assume something bad at happened. Was it Uraya? Was it more rebel soldiers? Architect forbid, was it stray Graull loyalists? She prayed not. Mòrag would cut off her hand if it meant she would never have to see one of those lunatics ever again. Graull might be dead yet he still haunted her whenever the silence dragged on too long.

Lately, she had been busy in organising the post-war affairs. There was still much to do, but she felt as if they had dealt with the messy parts by now. A temporary peace had been agreed with Uraya. As they had no ruler, their council were forced to unite and sign a contract. They were only too happy to do so providing no more battles would be commenced. A ceasefire, as it would. Uraya kept to themselves and Mor Ardain did the same. It was somewhat stable, though Mòrag hadn’t had much time to enjoy it. There were reports to file and documents to be written. She had already written her part of the battle, and so had Brighid and her companions, but they still needed to be edited. She had left that in the care of professional editors as she did not want to reread the hell she had been put through. Once was enough.

She stood outside of the meeting hall with her blade. Brighid had her arms folded and her head down. Her foot tapped absentmindedly. 

“It is strange that His Majesty did not mention this to us,” she said. “He’s always been so keen on forewarning.”

“I concur. I can only hope he bears good news,” said Mòrag. 

“Not like we need anything else to ruin our mood.”

Mòrag chuckled lowly. Brighid hadn’t had much sleep, as had she, so the two women could bond over their tiredness together. It was miserable, but at least they related.

“Do you think he’s alright?” Mòrag decided to ask.

“You are speaking of the Emperor? I… am unsure. We’ve hardly had the chance to see him these past few weeks.”

When the doors opened, the two turned. An advisor ushered them inside. The meeting room was still unfinished, with open plaster ruining the aesthetic and furniture pushed up against one wall, but it did its job. The long table had already been set. The entirety of the Senate, along with Niall at the head of the table, were waiting. Mòrag went to take her place a seat down from her brother, and Brighid stood behind her.

Her eyes trailed down the table. At the end, looking very out of place, was a small figure that Mòrag would recognise anywhere. Her throat tightened when she saw Rex flanked by both Pyra and Mythra. He appeared nervous, wringing his hands together and muttering to his blades. 

Mòrag didn’t dare speak up. She was so far away from him she would have to shout, so she sat twitching in her seat until Niall called for attention.

“Your Majesty, it is unlike you to hold an unannounced meeting,” interrupted a Senate member, an old woman who had her fingers folded together smugly. Niall did not show that he was disturbed by the comment, rather keeping his gaze downcast and his mouth in a hard line.

“Yes. This will be a delicate topic.”

He avoided looking directly at anyone, though feeling Mòrag’s stare burning into him, he glanced up to give her a smile.

“I… realise that perhaps this is not the best time, but Graull is dead. Mor Ardain have won the brief war thanks to the efforts of the Special Inquisitor,” he paused to gesture to her, and then to Rex at the foot of the table, “and the Driver of the Aegis. Not to mention countless others that will have their names memorialised. Hardly any time has passed except for a few short weeks, and there is much to be done. There will need to be repairs, defence building and legal affairs to sort out with both Uraya and Gormott.”

So far, Niall was just stating the obvious. Everyone already knew this. He and the Senate were neck deep in recovering from all the nonsense Graull had put them through. The Senate members watched on, seemingly bored, though allowed Niall to continue.

“And, after a long time of contemplating, I have found that my role in this as Emperor has been lacking. My misguidance and hesitancy has done nothing to support our soldiers and our people. I believe that that if I were removed from the picture altogether, I would not be noticed.”

“Does this matter, Your Majesty?” said a Senate member. “As you said, the war is won. There is nothing left to be discussed on the matter.”

Niall bit his lip. “I understand your reasoning, but I digress. We came to Elysium approximately two and a half years ago. It has been a time packed with change and new opportunities. Thus… as I fear I am a monarch who is deficient in both leadership and foresight, I would like to suggest the possibility of standing down.”

A hushed silence fell over the room. Mòrag, eyes wide, stared at Niall in shock.

“Stand down?!” echoed another member, a surly old man who waved his hand in disbelief. “And for what reason?”

“I am unfit to rule this country,” Niall stated plainly.

“You cannot simply  _ abandon _ your duty as Emperor,” snapped the same woman from before.

“Without leaving a suitable heir to the throne? I agree.” Niall finally lifted his head up. His expression was unreadable, but then he stood up. “However, I feel that there is a far better candidate.”

The old man guffawed. “Such as? You have no legitimate heirs, sire. Not to mention you have not even begun to search for a consort. Is there another member of the Ardanich line who can take your place? As far as I know, you are the sole remaining representative.”

“Indeed, though there is yet another option. Therefore I would like to nominate Mòrag Ladair, the Special Inquisitor of Mor Ardain, as the next Empress.”

Mòrag choked on her water.

She felt the eyes of everyone land on her. She spluttered and tried to regain her composure, suddenly aware of how much she was in the spotlight. 

_ Her? _ As Empress? It was not something they hadn’t spoken of before, but how could Niall have the boldness to state it to the Senate like that? They knew he had no say. It was tradition; the law. Ardanach were the royal line. Ladair was among possible cadet branches of similarly royal blood, but were reserved for special occasions or the situation where an Ardanach was not available for the monarchy. This was something Niall had no control over. What was he thinking?!

“I feel you are suffering from stress, Your Majesty.” Several Senators laughed in disbelief, eyebrows pinched together and hands to their mouths.

“You are perfectly aware of the law,” said one. “Ardanach rules first and foremost. Why, are you merely suggesting this because Lady Mòrag is your close relative? Do you want to put  _ your _ rightful burden on  _ her _ shoulders?”

They watched as Niall looked away in embarrassment. Rex and his blades were cringing at their end of the room, so Mòrag could only guess they already knew about it. Well,  _ she _ didn’t. Neither did Brighid, judging by her shocked expression. Why would Niall go and announce such a thing without telling her?

“Majesty,” she whispered. She waited for the nod of approval to speak, then continued. “Why are you suggesting this? Surely this is not because of our conversation last month?”

“No. We’ve both always wanted this. I am only Emperor because of my heritage. Elysium is a symbol of new beginnings, and I wish to do away with such an old fashioned law. Why should a monarch be chosen due to his blood?”

“That is the law that has been implemented for millenia!” a Senator cried angrily. “You have no right to change it now!”

“Even so, Mòrag has Ardanach blood. She is just as much of a candidate as I am.”

While some murmured at that counter, the older Senators grumbled to themselves. “She is a  _ Ladair!” _

They were all taken aback when Niall slammed his fist against the table, the sound startling everyone. Drinks shook and one empty glass rolled onto the floor. He turned his sharp gaze to the man who had spoken, teeth gritted and body trembling.

“Why does that matter after all she has done?” he shouted at several decibels louder than what was appropriate. “Have you not read her statement? She defeated Graull with nothing besides one blade. Not even mentioning that, she commandeered her troops through countless battles in this war alone. The War of Kings, albeit short, would not have been won without the Special Inquisitor’s guidance. In fact, I would dub her the most influential Special Inquisitor in Mor Ardain’s history. You owe your  _ life _ to her!”

Heat flared under her skin at Niall’s words. Mòrag shut her mouth only because it had hung open so long that it had dried. The Senator that Niall had yelled at shrank into his seat. They watched on silently as Niall stood back and inhaled deeply through his nose.

“I apologise for losing my temper. My reasoning still stands. I wish to step down as the Emperor in favour of my sister, if she would agree to it. I will conclude this meeting with providing evidence that this has been done before. The 26th Emperor, Artair Ardanach abdicated his throne in favour of his own personal choices. Not to mention many have resigned due to old age. I leave it at that, along with gaining approval from the Driver of the Aegis in my endeavor.”

Eyes turned to Rex, who smiled sheepishly. After Niall gave the signal to end the meeting, mutters encased the room as he left.

Mòrag stood up. She felt Brighid hold a hand to her shoulder, but she shrugged it off.

“I must speak to His Majesty alone,” she whispered.

Brighid nodded in understanding. Mòrag slipped out before anyone could question her, seeing as she had no idea how this had come about. She needed to get Niall’s input without the interruption of arrogant Senators.

She found him pacing in a side room, chewing his nails yet again. His index finger was bleeding.

“Ah, Special Inquisitor,” he murmured, avoiding eye contact.

“What are you  _ doing?” _ Mòrag bit out. “Did someone set you up to this?”

“This was entirely my decision.”

“Why? Why would you think you cannot rule? You are a wonderful Emperor, sire. You criticise yourself too much.”

Niall chuckled and removed his fingers from his lips. “You flatter me. It’s not that I cannot rule, it’s that it would be a missed opportunity if you were cast aside. Like I said, you saved us. You saved the world once, Mòrag.”

“But that Senator was right. The law is the law.”

“No, there are ways around it. True, this is an unusual circumstance, though I would not present such a suggestion if I were not 100% positive that it was possible. Believe me.”

Mòrag sighed and looked up at the ceiling, in need of a view that would not cloud her mind. Seeing Niall like he was now was painful. It wasn’t that she had an objection to being Empress. It had been the hole in her soul for so long. She was also happy in her current position, as she was able to help people. Though if the laws somehow changed overnight and she was thrust into the role of a monarch, she would not complain. She would take it as an opportunity to change things for the better, but was this the right way to do it? Niall sacrificing such a big part of his life just for her? Yes, he had spoken about wanting to do other things, but Mòrag wasn’t so sure this was the way to go about it.

Instead, she decided to ask something else.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

The Emperor visibly flinched. He appeared sad. “I didn’t do it to surprise you. I… didn’t want you to say no to the idea when there’s so much potential in you.”

“I’m happy as long as you are. You know that, right?”

“Of course. All I ask is that you wait this one out. I have a plan. Once I provide my proof of the legal documents and contracts needed, the Senate will call on a vote. I will also ask the public for a vote with your permission.”

Thinking about it, Mòrag took a seat on the nearest chair.

What if they said yes? What if the law _ was _ changed to satisfy them, and she would have to rule Mor Ardain at long last? Mòrag was not necessarily nervous about that fact. She knew how to lead. She knew how to command her army, she knew how laws and legal matters worked and she was an expert negotiator and strategist. That was not to mention how good of a driver she was. 

“If, per chance, the Senate agree to this,” she started, “what will you do?”

“Well...” Niall stretched his arms above his head. “I want to support your efforts in rebuilding Mor Ardain to its former glory, and I know it would fare better with you at the helm. That’s all there is to it.”

“And you’re not doing this because I was raised to?”

“That just comes into why you’d be a wonderful ruler,” said Niall.

He walked over to where Mòrag was sitting, and leant over to wrap his arms around her. He was no longer the small child he used to be. He had to bend down significantly, and Mòrag reached her arms up to embrace him in return. In a few short years she would be the one looking up at him. 

“I appreciate you doing this for me, but please do not fret if they vote against it. I am content in my position as Special Inquisitor.”

Niall scoffed to himself as he pulled away. “It irks me that they fail to see your great deeds. The only reason those ungrateful louts are sitting there now is because of your actions.”

A laugh rumbled in Mòrag’s chest. “I do have to say I was not expecting you to speak to them so curtly.”

“A mistake on my behalf, although I shall work on it. Now, do I have your permission, as the 49th Emperor of Mor Ardain, to put you forward as the next monarch?”

“Will this make you happy?”

Surprised, Niall’s eyes widened. He spent a long time processing her words. He cared greatly for Mor Ardain’s future, especially after the damage that Graull had inflicted on it when they were still vulnerable from the great immigration to Elysium, but he cared about his sister just as much. If she didn’t want this position then he wouldn’t force her to take it.

“My happiness is not relevant. I only do this so that you may flourish into the person you’re meant to be. I am taking into account the recent events and future therapy for you. Nonetheless, if you decline, then I am content with that,” he said slowly. "But if you were asking for a selfish answer... then yes, seeing you on the throne would make me happy, but I want you to do it for yourself."

Mòrag got up slowly. She stood facing him, a hand to her chest as she gave a slight bow. She could not believe she was doing this. All her life she had been subservient to the laws and was pleased to do so, though if Niall desired this for her, and he really did not want his role as Emperor, then she would gladly take up the position for his sake and for others. Mòrag knew that wasn’t what Niall wanted her to think, but he had his way and she had hers. It worked out for both of them in the end, didn’t it?

“I humbly accept, sire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternative description: niall goes APESHIT
> 
> *slams hands on table* morag. deserved. to be. empress. that is all GOODBYE


	29. Judgement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decisions are made, and a vote is put forward.

“Mòrag? As Empress?”

“Yeah. That’s what Emperor Niall wants.”

Zeke stared back at Rex with one wide eye before looking down at the floor. He raised a hand to rub his hair out of his face and dragged his fingers along his scalp. His lips were pursed as if he were truly digesting the thought, as if the concept had seemed impossible before.

Rex had gathered everyone outside. Or, rather, everyone had naturally gravitated outside to enjoy the last heat of the year before the true winter chill would set in. It was just Rex wanted them all to know about the upcoming vote that they would possibly want to take part in. It would only go through if the Senate were deadlocked or more so in Mòrag’s favour. If they voted overwhelmingly for Niall to keep his current position, then any sort of public vote would be annulled before it saw the light of day. 

“That’s not how their laws work though, is it?” said Dromarch.

“Yup,” said Rex. “Usually, anyway. Niall’s come up with reasons why, but like I said the Senate’s still talking about it.”

He went through how their opinions would be valid in any upcoming debates. Most of the group didn’t seem too upset about the notion. They’d discussed Mòrag on the throne way back in Gormott before the war had even started. They roughly knew she was meant to before Niall came along at a later date. She already demonstrated the necessary skills, so that did not need to be discussed. It was just a matter of if it was _worth_ it.

Crowning a new monarch was no simple event. It required legal documentation, contracts and countless hours of preparation.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Mythra added, her arms folded and her legs kicked up against the table they shared. “The Emperor’s a good guy, don’t get me wrong, but Mòrag’s a woman of action. She’d really get Mor Ardain moving when it has to.”

“Tora agree!” Tora squeaked, and next to him, Poppi gave her own nod of confirmation. Those two had been fairly quiet during the brief war, though had given their input when needed. 

Rex cleared his throat. “Okay, I say we cast our own vote. If you’re in favour of Mòrag being the Empress, raise your hand.”

Out of the group of nine, only seven raised their hands. Pyra and Pandoria kept their arms to their sides, but they did not seem entirely against it.

“Pyra? Pandy? What’s up?” Zeke asked.

Pyra was the first to speak. “It’s just… why now? They’ve won the war, and I know from experience countries are always vulnerable at this sort of time. Wouldn’t going through the process of changing monarchs make everything more confusing? I think Niall’s doing an OK job of running things. Unless he really hates being Emperor, I’m happy for things to stay the way they are.”

“And who’d be the Special Inquisitor?” Pandoria commented. “I’m with Pyra on this one. But if whatever happens happens, then that’s also cool with me.”

“And, Rex… Does Mòrag even know about this? Or Brighid?” 

The driver blinked. “They know. I haven’t had much of a chance to speak to them properly, although I don’t think they’re opposed.”

“I say find some time to talk to her,” said Pyra.

That was probably the best option. The last Rex had seen her was in the meeting room, and she had promptly disappeared to see Niall in private and from then on she had turned into a phantom. Of course, there were still plenty of legal matters she had to attend to, but Rex found it surprising that he hadn’t caught a glimpse of her. He decided that he’d find her at some point. Like the others had said, he didn’t want to help push her into a role she didn’t want.

* * *

Mòrag’s mind had been racing at a million miles per hour, and she had not found a way to settle it. All she could think about was what would happen next.

She’d thought long and hard about it—about Niall’s words to her, the Senate, the meeting, all of it. She had also tried to speak with her father in her head as she often did, but nothing clear was coming through. Perhaps he wanted her to figure it out for herself? It was the theory that she had come to in the end, anyway. It didn’t give her much comfort, but she decided that was what Lord Eandraig probably would have said if he were still alive.

The Special Inquisitor was sitting in the foyer once again. Just holing herself in her room was beginning to become stifling. Her mother was opposite, calmly reading a newspaper.

“Why the frown?” Lady Sverre said. “This is marvelous. You’ll finally be what you were always meant to be.”

Shrugging and avoiding eye contact, Mòrag looked away. “I’m still pondering on whether that’s the case.”

“Of course it is! You were brought into this world for that very reason.”

Mòrag grimaced.

Her mother sighed, placing the paper down and leaning back in her oversized chair. “Look, Mòrag. Niall’s a good boy and wants what’s best for you. In his opinion, and quite surely the rest of the country would agree that you are better suited for the throne. He is still just a lad.”

There were positive and negative points to that. Yes, Niall was not an adult yet, but he knew how to do his job. Mòrag only agreed because he wanted to do something else with his life, and she knew she could handle taking his place. It may have been a long time ago when she had been giving those lessons, yet she still knew how to rule. That wasn’t necessarily what she was worried about. Even after all this time, after the conversations she’d had with Brighid and all of the nights spent awake thinking about the very topic, Mòrag was concerned about fate. It was a concept that wouldn’t leave her.

Perhaps it was simply the PTSD catching up to her. 

“Are you alright?”

She snapped her head up. “Quite. It’s just a lot to cope with at the moment.”

“Not to worry. The Senate will be voting soon, and hopefully the public afterwards. You can put it out of your head when it’s all over, and life will be back to normal.”

No, life would not be back to normal. It never would, and Mòrag had accepted that at a young age. Life was a process that kept changing, ranging from her being denied her birthright to becoming the rank she was now, to meeting Rex and the Aegis to saving the world. Then, she realised, that maybe that tied in with fate. Fate could be considered a concept that was ever changing. That fate was something she could take and make for herself, despite what the Senate decided.

The voting came much quicker than she had anticipated. 

Not two weeks later, Mòrag found herself outside the damn meeting room door again. She hadn’t wanted to be present. She’d hoped to leave the grizzled old men argue among themselves for several hours, but of course she _had_ to be there. The other nerve wracking thing was that Brighid was not at her side, instead having to stay with the others. She was only allowed to come as a guest member—someone to give their opinion as someone not of the Senate. Mòrag would have to enter alone and present her own case. She didn’t even _have_ much of one. It was _Niall_ nominating her.

“Mòrag,” called a sudden voice.

She turned to see Rex, alone, bounding up to her. She forced a smile and a tip of her hat. 

“Rex. You’re here a tad early.”

“Yeah, just came to chat really quickly. I was meaning to see you ages ago, but I couldn’t find you and then Pyra said you were busy and I’d be bothering you—” he paused to take a breath, face and cheeks red, “though I wanted to get permission.”

“Permission?” Mòrag raised a brow.

“Permission to support you.” Rex finally got air into his lungs and settled down only to rock on his heels. “Like, are you okay with this? Do you want me to put my opinion in? Do you _want_ to be Empress?”

She smiled. It was so much like Rex to check on her even at the last minute, and to make sure she was alright. He had done an excellent job of looking after her these past few months. “I have agreed to it. As His Majesty would like to be elsewhere, I am more than happy to take his place. Not to mention, I would like to make my people happy in their new home after the horrors of the recent but brief war.”

She watched as Rex beamed at her answer. He had appeared worried.

“Great. I’m glad it’s something _you_ want, too. In that case, I suppose I’d better let you get on. Wouldn’t want you to be late for this.”

“No, it would be wise not to be.”

As she was about to turn, Rex pulled her forwards. Mòrag squeaked in surprise as he embraced her. His newfound height meant that she was able to actually press her face into his shoulder rather than bend down to see him at eye level. How many surprise hugs had she been given this year? It felt like a thousand. She’d never been much of a hugger, but lately it had felt… nice.

“Good luck, Mòrag,” Rex said. 

“I thank you.”

The tension in the meeting room had skyrocketed since the previous occasion. Mòrag felt the glares of several Senators as she approached her seat. Niall was glad to see her, and gestured for her to take her place near him. Mòrag also noticed that his advisors, the army captains and the entirety of her Alrest squad were present. Zeke grinned at her from his own labelled chair, and she saw that Rex was next to him. The rest, besides from Pyra and Mythra, were sat as other guests. Brighid had her arms folded and her expression was unreadable. The ones with titles were honoured far more, even if it had been _all_ of them that had saved the world.

Now, Mòrag didn’t take much of the introductions in. It was all stuff she had heard before. Niall pleaded his case much as he had done the last time. The Senators and his advisors listened, despite some audible grumbles of distained murmuring. 

“I would like to discuss the negative points of Mòrag Ladair rising to the throne,” he started. “Thoughts?”

People were eager to jump at their chance to complain.

“She is not of the Ardanach family line, and thus has no right to overtake a full-blooded member who is already _on_ the throne.”

“Why would we change monarchs when there is no need? We are still stabilising. Having His Majesty renounce his title for no apparent reason would spark discourse amongst the public.”

“Who is to say Lady Ladair is any more suitable than Emperor Niall? She has had no formal training in recent years. It is obvious she would stumble upon times of political debate.”

Accusations of incompetency ricocheted throughout the room. Mòrag winced at a few. Not that she disagreed with some of them, but to consider that members of the Senate had such a low opinion of her stung. Her achievements went by unnoticed as they spat out legal disagreements to her case. Niall watched with hardened eyes, and so did her companions. Mòrag was also aware of many of the younger Senators keeping quiet.

Once they had made their points heard, Niall gestured for the others to speak instead.

“And those who have contrasting opinions?”

Rex stood up abruptly. Everyone turned to him.

“I understand there’s a lot of rules that Mor Ardain has that I don’t understand,” he said. “And Emperor Niall, I thank you for everything you’ve done for us during our journey throughout Alrest.”

Niall smiled warmly and bowed his head.

“Your thoughts are valued, Driver of the Aegis. They mean as much to me as any other Senator here.”

The teen frowned. “Right. Well, this isn’t about who’d be the better ruler. Both you and Mòrag are wonderful people. I just put my vote forward for Mòrag’s sake because she’s my friend and I trust her to bring Mor Ardain to a new glory. I mean, I hardly needed to step in this time. I know Pyra and Mythra's powers have been stamped on, but even so. She did almost all of this on her own. She’s a hero.”

Warmth spread from her heart to her face. Mòrag failed to hide the blush of both embarrassment and gratitude at such high words of praise. She noticed that her other friends also raised their hands in agreement.

"She'd no doubt make a great ruler," Zeke added. "Bet she'd be able to talk my dad to start being more social."

As some laughed, Nia took the opportunity to cut in with her own comment. "What Rex said. We wouldn't have gotten anyway near victory without her."

Once Niall acknowledged their say, he turned to the Senators who had remained silent through the others’ protesting.

They then began to put forward their own ideas.

“As Lady Mòrag is experienced in battle strategy and being the greatest influence in this war, I would say she is a good candidate for the throne. She has a better eye for tactics and negotiation,” one stated.

Another joined in, “As we are so vulnerable now in our new land, Mor Ardain needs to be on guard more than ever. The Special Inquisitor would know the best way forward in order to maintain our defences after the recent attacks, considering other nations may have ideas about invading since it is common knowledge we are weak.”

They all made decent points. Mòrag said nothing, only listened. She felt… appreciated.

Once the meeting came to its natural summary, Niall set down his papers and called for the final vote between the Senate.

“All in favour of myself remaining the Emperor?”

Eight people raised their hands. Both Rex and Mòrag swallowed nervously.

“And all in favour of Mòrag Ladair becoming the next monarch?”

A grand total of 24 people raised their hands.

Niall beamed, extremely pleased with the result. “Then that concludes today. Prepare for a public vote.”

The old Senators groaned, but left in silence along with the rest. That just left Mòrag along with her brother and companions.

She couldn’t believe it. She could perhaps see the public voting in her favour, though the Senate had never been easy to get along with. Differences in arguments constantly clashed with each other and made large decisions such as this difficult and tiring. Mòrag could not say she was upset about the results, seeing as Niall looked so happy, but it was needless to say she was stunned. It was like it wasn’t even real.

“Congrats,” Nia called out from her seat. “You got those political morons on your side.”

“It’s not over yet,” Mòrag replied stiffly.

“True. We don’t often cast public votes like this, but this is essential,” Niall added.

As everyone murmured along with each other, Mòrag stood up. Everything was too much, and being at the centre of attention was something she wasn’t keen on—especially when it came to great responsibility.

Her brother dismissed her with no argument, but tightened his lips in concern. Brighid followed her out.

“Is everything well?”

“Yes,” Mòrag snapped a bit too sharply. “I mean, yes, I’m fine. It’s just a lot to take in. I never though Niall would get this far. This could really become a possibility.”

She noticed as Brighid paused. “And how are your thoughts in regard?”

“Mixed.”

They dropped the subject. The vote would need a few days to occur, especially as announcements had to be made and arguments had to be written down and displayed to give people more information. Mòrag felt a tad sorry for them, considering they had just been through the horrors of war and were now being subjected to such a massive decision in choosing their ruler. Never in history had they ever decided _for_ them. The royals were decided upon conception and then birth by whatever fate had in store. Not that it always ended in good monarchs, but at least nobody could argue with it.

The two women found themselves on the palace’s roof once more, just as they had done many months ago. Mòrag mimicked her past actions and removed her hat to allow the now slightly chilly breeze to drift through her hair. A moment of silence was a moment to be savoured.

So much had changed. The town below them was disheveled and jam packed with citizens still in the process of moving back to their original homes, although at least they were _alive._

That reminded her; proper memorials would need to be built in due time. They had already selected a plot of land not too far away from Alba Cavanich. The bodies collected from the battlefield had been recovered and were currently being prepared for yet another state funeral in the coming weeks. So much was being done and somehow Mòrag felt it going by in a blur.

“You’ve done enough, Lady Mòrag,” Brighid spoke suddenly. “Allow your mind to rest.”

“Easier said than done. I might be Empress in a few days.”

The blade chuckled. “True, but for the moment there’s nothing either of us can do about it. You deserve to rest.”

She’d done a lot of resting, though. How long had she spent in her room? Then again, Brighid and countless others had been insisting on being easier on herself. Her head was a mess and trauma did not disappear overnight. Even Nia could not soothe the horrors, past and present, that she had been through. Time was the only thing that would help.

That and a whole lot of therapy, but Mòrag pushed those thoughts away.

“If you are elected, do you have any idea on who would be the next Special Inquisitor?”

Ah, she’d forgotten about that. Mòrag frowned. “I haven’t. Then again, _you’d_ make a decent Special Inquisitor, wouldn’t you, Brighid?”

Brighid’s face morphed from calmness to surprise. “Me?”

“Why not? You are already aware of how the job works, and have been working directly with me for six years now. I’d say you’re more than qualified.”

“I thank you for the compliment,” said Brighid warmly. Mòrag shot her a smile. She owed Brighid the world for her help over the years. She could never have achieved what she had done without her.

Suddenly, however, they were startled by the presence of heavy footsteps. Padraig charged up to them, shivering in the cold and out of breath. He placed his hands on his knees as he tried to draw air through his thick, heavy helmet.

“Your Grace,” he panted. “Er, there’s been commotion in the throne room. A prisoner has been recently caught, and His Majesty wants you to attend. I apologise for such short notice.”

“A prisoner?” Mòrag echoed. Well, that was interesting.

They followed Padraig back inside the palace and took a flight of stairs down to said throne room. A buzz was hovering in the air, but not many were present besides an irritated Niall and his swarming advisors.

Rex and the others had made themselves scarce. Mòrag’s eyes eventually moved from the throne to what everyone was focused on, and once she saw it, her throat tightened and her fists clenched.

Steaphan was being detained by four Ardainian soldiers. He writhed in their grip, spitting out profanities and struggling to free himself to no avail. He was covered in dirt and grime, probably from his time on the run, and was dressed in ratty jail clothes. His hair was so dirty it was hardly even orange anymore, and a thin, patchy beard had taken form on his chin. He was an absolute mess, and the very sight of him caused disgust to in coil in Mòrag’s stomach. This man was _almost_ as despicable as Graull.

“Mòrag,” Niall called, and she brought herself over to where he was sitting. “I’m sorry I’ve called you back so soon after the meeting, but we’ve found one of the men responsible for the Reubaltaich’s formation. I wanted you to have a say in this considering he also had a hand in torturing you.”

The last two words made her cringe, though Mòrag nodded anyway. “I will give my statement.”

As this was a severe case that many had been witness to, they skipped a formal trial. Steaphan was dragged right up to the throne (at a safe distance) to be judged by the Emperor himself. Niall scowled at him.

“Your Majesty, we present the capture of the Reubaltaich’s second in command. We found him crawling around the outskirts of the country’s border, having likely fled after Graull’s death," said a soldier.

Steaphan glared up at Niall who did not falter under his gaze. 

“Steaphan MacPhàrlain, I do believe this is the first time we have met. As the guards have already told you, there will be no trial for the crimes you have committed, but a special sentence given by myself.”

The man snorted and rolled his eyes. He didn’t comment, so Niall moved on to reading the charges given to him. 

“You have been charged with several accounts of aggravated assault on the Special Inquisitor of Mor Ardain and member of the royal Ladair line, along with treason, torture, assistance in taking hostages and first degree murder of your fellow soldiers.” He was almost out of breath by the time he read that sentence. “You have seriously violated the principles of distinction and proportionality, and military necessity. However, this trail will be slightly different from what would normally happen. As you inflicted so much damage on her, I would ask that the Special Inquisitor decides on your sentence.”

What, more big responsibility? Mòrag turned to Niall. At least this one was legal. If the Emperor so wished, he could pass on the sentencing rights to a judge, a member of the Senate or high-ranking soldiers such as herself. 

“It’s still your call,” he whispered gently to her.

Mòrag turned to Steaphan. He tossed his head in dissent. “You’ve _got_ to be joking. This bitch has no right to judge me!”

How many times had he called her that now? Mòrag’s lips twisted downwards. She took a second to think about this man. 

He had once been a trusted captain. Mòrag had handpicked him from a series of recruits for his prowess as both a driver and a fighter. When she had found out about his betrayal, disappointment was the only thing she could feel. Now, when she looked down on his pathetic form, all she could feel was _hate._ He had inflicted grave wounds on her during her time in captivity. He had injured her friends, her soldiers, and betrayed them not once, but _twice,_ to be safer on Graull’s side. People like him were the scum of the earth and she was not afraid to say so.

“Very well,” she finally answered and turned fully to face up. “You are already aware of what you’ve done. The crimes you have committed are inexcusable.”

It would be so easy to kill him. Capital punishment was permissable in cases of extreme violence. However, Mòrag needed to set an example if people wanted to see her as Empress. Death was too good of a punishment.

“Therefore I would like to suggest the sentence consisting of spending the rest of your days imprisoned in solitary confinement.”

Niall nodded in response. “I quite agree.”

“Damn you,” Steaphan snarled as he was dragged away. Architect, that felt good. Mòrag smirked as he caught her eye. 

“Good riddance.” Niall sighed and sank into his throne. “I’m exhausted.”

“And are you still sure you wish to carry out the public vote so soon, Majesty?” Mòrag asked.

“Yes, yes. I have no qualms with it. I’ll be fine. _You’re_ the one that needs rest. Take time for yourself as we get this vote underway. You deserve it.”

Such praise from him was appreciated. The vote would commence shortly, and while Mòrag couldn’t do much about it, she would savour whatever simplicity she could grab hold of until then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas everyone. i hope to get the last chapter up before the new year. it's been a long time coming.


	30. Empress of Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mòrag is crowned in a special coronation.

Holding the crown in her hands, Mòrag closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Before she had forced her gaze away from it, she had taken in its dark beauty. It was encrusted in obsidian and rubies, as well as lined by a fine edging of gold engravings. It was far too valuable to wear in day to day life, but it was just meant to act as the coronation crown and no more. 

Its weight was prominent on her head. It was much heavier than her hat, so Mòrag had to take it off again. This whole situation was possibly one of the biggest stress factors of her entire life.

As Niall had commanded, the public vote was announced. The public had been taken aback by such a massive event so soon after the war, yet the results… surprised her, to say the least.

Her body shook as she recalled it. Mòrag had done little besides work in her room these past several weeks. It was file after file, document after document but she found it somewhat soothing. She still didn’t feel ready to go outside and face the world, although she was now at a point where she simply _had_ to. On the day of the vote, she was made to wait in the throne room for the formal announcement, but she had longed to cover her ears and never hear it. Not because she would dislike either result, but because whatever it would be would impact her permanently. The positive was that she would help people either way, and that was the root that kept her steady. When Mòrag envisioned lives being saved, the thought would wrap around her feet like veins and comfort her. As long as she could benefit others, then she cared not what happened to her.

It took a long time to tally the votes. As Mor Ardain did not work via a democracy, votes of nobles and politicians were valued more than the commoner’s say. It had been a silly law Mòrag longed to correct for years. Now, she supposed, she would get that chance.

“And the results, Your Majesty?” a Senator asked as Niall looked over the conclusion.

The soft smile on his face had been enough to confirm the answer. Mòrag almost lost feeling in her legs as he gestured to her with his hand, fingers curled as he fondly spoke her name. The vast majority of the public, including the say of the noblemen, had voted her in Niall’s place. It shocked her.

“I’m not surprised, Mòrag,” Niall had said. He had risen from the throne and slumped into one of the softer couches. He appeared deflated, but pleased. “As I said, you’re a hero. It’s natural for our people to want you at the helm of the Empire of Mor Ardain.”

When she didn’t speak, Niall opened his eyes and the smile faded. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I…” she trailed off.

“We can take it back if you like,” Niall said in a panic. “If you’re not comfortable being Empress, it’s fine, I can just—”

Mòrag’s chuckle of amusement ceased his worry. “No, that’s not it at all. I am happy.”

“I’m… glad.” Niall’s sigh further deflated his tired body.

“I’m happy because I can help people. I’m happy because you’re _free,_ now.”

The Emperor frowned and folded his arms, furrowing his eyebrows cutely. He looked like such a little kid when he did so. “I told you not to do this for my sake.”

Of course, Mòrag assured him that wasn’t the case, though part of her knew it was. Partially, at least. She practically lived and breathed for her brother. He was everything to her. It was her way of making up for her scorn before his birth—her lifelong apology to the one who had no say in either of their fates. Perhaps it was overkill, but it brought peace to her. Peace that was constantly being fulfilled, day by day.

The actual process of transferring the crown was far more boring that it sounded.

It took the advisors and the Senators a while to gather up the necessary documents, but in the end all Mòrag had to do was sign a few contracts. Just a scrawl of an ink pen and she was now Empress.

Niall had been happily demoted to the crown prince, and also Mòrag’s direct heir. He would still attain the right to ascend first even if Mòrag should have a child in the future. Not that he approved, though it was needed to get the Senate to stop grumbling and come to a shaky agreement. Whoever was the first to have a child between them, they would still carry Ardanach blood. ‘Preserving’ the royal line was always taken a tad too far. At least bearing a child was not something she would be forced to do, Mòrag thought idly. There were other cadet branches should something happen to them, which she wasn’t sure was a comforting thought or not.

The coronation wasn’t a _necessary_ process, so to speak. In legal terms, the crown would pass immediately onto the heir when the monarch died. The coronation was just a formal practice to make the event public. However, as Mòrag fiddled with the decorative crowned, she couldn’t help but wish it had simply been left at signing a contract. She didn’t want to go to _another_ party after the _last_ one. The smell of champagne continued to make her shiver.

Her robes had been specially designed for the occasion. Mòrag was standing in her room, dressed head to foot in white, red and gold. It felt unnatural compared to her soldier’s uniform. Much like Niall’s garbs, the neckline was lined with Vint Griffox fur. The epaulettes and connecting chain links were golden and gleaming. Maybe a dress would have been traditional but Mòrag insisted she wore trousers or nothing at all. Not that she’d turn up to the event in casual wear, yet it was enough to get the point across. The reminder of the robes consisted of a long, furred cape and enough medals to sink her to the bottom of a lake. It was extremely beautiful. Again, like the crown, she would wear something less decorative when ruling although Ardainians liked to go all out in noble parties—and this was going to be one of the biggest events of the year. Mòrag swallowed nervously, finally picking the crown back up and placing it back on its cushion. It would be presented to her later.

A knock on the door startled her. Brighid, decorated in equally beautiful garbs of white silks and roses, entered with a smile on her face.

“You look lovely, Lady Mòrag.”

They still hadn’t come to terms with new titles. Mòrag forced a positive response despite her fear.

“Thank you, Brighid. As do you.”

Her blade playfully rolled her eyes. “So formal, as always. Loosen up a little. It’ll all be over after a quick speech and then you can drink your problems away. At least for tonight.”

“You’re awfully carefree,” Mòrag scoffed.

“What can I say?” Brighid spun around on her heel, clearly enjoying her new additions of clothing. “I’m excited for you. How do you feel?”

“Nervous, if I’ll be honest. I partly wish we could have left it at the contract.”

“Nonsense,” Brighid said as she took her shoulders, guiding her out of the room. Her makeup was finished—pretty, but not too overdone—and she had nothing else to do except make her way to the half-finished ceremonial hall. It was just a big empty room still in construction, though they had made the most of it with whatever decorations they could throw together. If the sky was clear, then they could perhaps sit outside, but it was awfully cold. “You’ll be fine once you see the others. There’s not long left until it begins, so make sure you’re ready.”

Did she really have much of a choice with Brighid dragging her like this? Mòrag went along with it, only pleased to see her blade so elated for her. It was a welcomed change after the recent months of misery. 

Mòrag was ushered into a side room to further prepare as the final changes were being made. She caught a glimpse of the insane amount of people gathered to watch the coronation. She also saw that the throne had been carried down from the throne room and placed upon the stage, ready for her to sit on and state her vows. 

She sat motionlessly as last minute touches were added. A fresh coat of lip gloss which she had to force herself not to lick off, a touchup of her eye makeup and making sure no strand of hair fell out of place. It was done in her usual bun but with an expensive brooch keeping it in place. She really did look fantastic in her regalia, and Mòrag could appreciate the beauty of such intricate stitchwork though she had never liked dressing gaudily. Her mother would probably kill to wear it herself.

“You’ll be walking in now,” said Brighid.

“Goodness,” Mòrag muttered. “Already? I feel as if I’m dreaming.”

Her blade gave her a smile of comfort. “You’ll be a natural, Mòrag.”

The chatter of the ceremonial hall fell silent as Mòrag heard the announcements. She inhaled sharply through her nose and mentally slapped herself to full attention. She already had some Senators glaring at her to act perfect. As long as she didn’t trip, she’d be fine.

Thoughts of tripping began to loom over her as the doors opened. It took all of her strength to conceal her paranoia. The ceremonial hall was big, but not enormous as they didn’t have the time to get it anywhere near done. They wanted Mòrag’s coronation to be done soon as an official marker of change in Elysium, but that meant they had to make do with a half-finished building as their base of operations. As Mòrag looked around through slight shifts of the eye, she saw that they had done a good job of decorating it. Ivy and crimson flowers hung from the walls, and a stretch of carpet (most likely borrowed from Hardhaigh) lined the floor she was walking on. On either side were probably a hundred wooden rows of benches. It was like a marriage ceremony, if anything. A marriage tying Mòrag to her empire.

She tried not to look at the many faces watching her. It was only until she reached the end that she saw her friends, Rex waving as much as he dared and Zeke giving her a thumbs up. Her lips twitched into a smile.

When she turned to get a full view of the crowd, she saw that Brighid had been keeping a steady pace behind her. It was comforting to see her so near, at least. Her legs were shaking, though Mòrag was glad her robes hid them. Niall, seated several spaces away, beamed in delight.

Two Senators lead her to the throne. Mòrag sat, feeling as if she was doing it all wrong.

_Am I sitting correctly? Don’t be ridiculous, Mòrag, you can’t sit wrong—but what if you can? What if this whole thing is ruined because I’ve messed it up? Architect—_

Her back stiffened when her name was spoken.

“Lady Mòrag Ladair, former Special Inquisitor of Mor Ardain and cousin to former Emperor Niall Ardanach, will now state her vows as an official statement of her loyalty to the Empire.”

A book was given in her right hand. Mòrag recognised it. It was just a very luxurious copy of religious texts, bound in jewel-encrusted leather and lined with gold paper, but she had never touched it before. It was cool under her gloved fingers and she laid her palm flat.

Her left hand raised and held itself in the air. The words of her vows had been burned into her mind at this point. She shakily swallowed again and awaited the lead Senator to approach her. An elderly man yet one of the more kinder individuals, he loomed over her with his own hand raised. He offered her a smile, but he was more focused on business than anything else. In other traditions a church member would do the honours, but over time the world had become less and less devoted to religion. 

As the Senator spoke, the room sounded even more hushed.

“Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the peoples of the Empire of Mor Ardain, and of your possessions and other territories to any of them belonging or pertaining, according to their respective laws and customs?’

Mòrag shut her eyes for a brief moment. “I solemnly promise so to do.”

“Will you to your power cause law and justice, in mercy, to be executed in all your judgments?”

“...I will.”

The stares of everyone burned into her like candle wax. Mòrag could feel sweat building at the back of her neck and under her arms, partially due to the heat and partially due to her nerves. This was taking an awful long time, wasn’t it?

The Senator was coming up to his last question, and the longest.

 _“_ Will you, to the utmost of your power, maintain the laws of the Architect here on Elysium? Will you, to the utmost of your power, maintain in the Empire of Mor Ardain reformed religion established by law? Will you maintain and preserve inviolable the settlement of the holy children of the Architect, and the doctrine, worship, discipline, and government thereof, as by law established in Mor Ardain?” In between his words, Mòrag could see Tora scratching his head in confusion. She stifled a laugh. “And will you preserve unto the Senators and noblemen of Mor Ardain, and to the churches there committed to their charge, all such rights and privileges, as by law do or shall appertain to them or any of them?”

The final answer came upon her.

“All this, I promise to do. The things which I have here before promised, I will perform, and keep. So help me Architect.”

There was refreshing applause when the Senator declared the oaths done and true. Mòrag couldn’t help a smile this time. It was uptight and frustrating to get through all that nonsense, especially considering Mòrag knew that there was nothing religious about Klaus at all, but it was just necessities. She knew, in the end, all it meant that she was being connected to the state she was ruling over.

It was nice.

When she returned the book, a heavy robe was placed on her shoulders and a sceptre then pushed into her hand. A load more of royal junk was thrown her way, though Mòrag didn’t pay any attention to it. She was too busy looking at the admiration coming from her people.

They appeared so… happy. It stunned her. Her eyes were mostly drawn to her companions, which she drank in slowly.

Rex was a bundle of big toothy grins and excited twitching. Next to him, Pyra and Mythra were keeping a hand on each of his shoulders but gave her a nod and a bow respectively. Next up was Nia and Dromarch. Nia had her signature smirk on her face with one fang poking out, yet it was an expression of joy. Dromarch had to sit to give others room, although he, too, was admiring Mòrag in her full royal regalia. Tora had to hoisted up on Poppi’s shoulders to actually see, but after he had gotten over the confusion of the vows, waved a wing at her. Mòrag lifted up her hand ever so slightly to wave back, and the Nopon clapped in delight. Zeke gave her another thumbs up and Pandoria mimicked the act. It was so wholesome to see her whole crew cheering her on from the sidelines as she was finally presented with the Ardainian crown, the thing she had been denied all those years ago.

A quick prayer was given as Mòrag got up and kneeled before the Senator.

_"Oh Architect the crown of the faithful; bless we beseech thee and sanctify this thy servant our empress, and as thou dost this day set a crown of pure gold upon her head, so enrich her royal heart with thine abundant grace, and crown her with all princely virtues through the holy divinity of the Architect of Elysium.”_

The cheering this time was far louder. As the crown was slowly placed upon her head—much lighter than it was earlier—the crowd erupted into a chorus.

“Architect save the queen!”

_"Architect crown you with a crown of glory and righteousness, that having a right faith and manifold fruit of good works, you may obtain the crown of an everlasting empire by the gift of him whose kingdom endureth for ever."_

To wrap up the crowning ceremony, Mòrag watched as the guests bowed their heads in unison, as she herself stood up and removed the heavy robes. They were placed on an altar, and she, holding the sceptre, was escorted from the hall by both Niall and Brighid as the 50th Empress of Mor Ardain. 

In that moment, Mòrag felt as if she was walking on air.

* * *

The day dragged on into the evening, and Mòrag, after many long speeches performed by herself and others, ended up in the same ceremonial hall again. For the night party, it had been transformed into a room of dull lighting and a cheerful atmosphere. Music played while everything swayed pleasantly.

“Mòrag!” Rex called and joined her and Niall’s table.

“Driver of the Aegis!” Niall slurred slightly, a lopsided smile on his face. Perhaps they both had had a little too much to drink. Mòrag said she wasn’t going to, but with Niall pushing glass after glass to her, she ended up in a state of fuzz that made her feel light and joyful. The rise before the fall of a possible hangover, no doubt, but that didn’t bother her at the moment.

“You looked amazing earlier,” said Rex. “Like, you were so intimidating. I could hardly recognise you with all the robes and jewels.”

It had been evident Rex had had a couple of drinks too, judging by the blush on his cheeks. Mòrag raised her glass.

“I thank you for your patronage, Rex. I never would have gotten this far without you.”

It was the truth in many ways. Without meeting him, Mòrag never would have found her true self amongst all her pushed down trauma and resentment. Sure, they’d had their arguments and disagreements, but life was not going to be one smooth road. The recent war was just another example of that.

“Naw. You helped _us.”_

Mòrag giggled informally, the alcohol numbing her social awareness skills.

“Enjoying the drinks this evening, Rex?” Niall asked.

Rex nodded, and then frowned. “Aren’t you too young to drink?”

“So are you!”

The two boys stared at each other in a slightly drunken state, before slapping each other on the back and laughing. Yes, they were underage, but nobody _really_ cared about that when they had just won a war and a new monarch had been crowned. Even Mòrag didn’t mind Niall having a few drinks. He deserved the time to loosen up a little, as Brighid had said earlier today.

“What are you gonna do first as Empress then, Mòrag?” said Rex.

“I am unsure,” said Mòrag. “We’ll need to be in a better state before anything major can be conducted—”

“Can I be Duke?”

Rex’s grin was obnoxious.

“Erm, that’s not how this works—”

“Why not?” Niall added loudly. “Or he can be a prince, like me.”

A sober Pyra came up to drag Rex away to get some water, apologising profusely to the Empress and her brother. Both laughed it off as Rex whined, and then Niall stood up.

“I believe I’ll get something to eat. Care to join me?”

Mòrag shook her head, her gaze elsewhere. “I think I shall have a moment to myself.”

Being out on the balcony instead helped her tipsy mind to focus. Mòrag leaned over the railing, her arms propping her up as she took in a lungful of frigid night air. It burned, but it also numbed the alcohol in her system to a degree. The tittering and stumbling was pleasant, though Mòrag liked to have a clear head as much as possible.

There were other guests lingering outside to smoke their pipes or talk in quiet. Mòrag watched from her perch, enjoying how happy and carefree they seemed. This was what Elysium was supposed to be like. It wasn’t meant to be a world full of war and strife, as Graull so desperately wanted it to be. It was gifted to them by Klaus in his dying moments, and under Mòrag’s rule, they would treasure that. The very soil they walked on was a blessing and so long as she lived, she would do everything in her power to prevent it from being tarnished.

Upon feeling a warm presence behind her, Mòrag dropped her head and sighed.

“Could you kindly stop sneaking up on me, Brighid?”

The blade laughed and joined her. “I just came to say that people are in there drinking to your ascension and you’re out here by yourself?”

“It’s been a long day.”

The coronation had lasted three hours, including the speeches and the formalities. Mòrag was exhausted.

“The first day of your new role.”

The Empress turned. “That is true. It’s overwhelming.”

“And your first order of business?”

“It’s a bit early for that, don’t you think?” Mòrag chuckled and eyed the faint stars. “In all seriousness, my first priority is to get Mor Ardain back on its feet. Uraya aren’t going to be doing anything anytime soon. We are under a brief peace treaty until a more permanent one can be signed. They are still dealing with the aftermath of Graull.”

“You did well to defeat that monster,” Brighid said softly.

“I suppose.” Voice heavy, Mòrag pulled back from the railing. “It is unprofessional of me to say this, but I’m thankful he’s dead.”

“Who isn’t? You did the entire world a massive favour in ridding of him. Do not think of him as a human. He was a monster who destroyed the lives of thousands. His Majesty—or rather, His Highness—was right about you being a hero.

Placing a hand over Brighid’s, Mòrag bowed slightly. “Thank you, Brighid. For everything.”

More drunk laughter filled the air as Brighid threw her head back to cackle. “You say that is if we’re departing.”

“You know what I meant.”

A blue hand found its way back to her shoulder. “I know. Let’s head back inside.”

* * *

As Mòrag sat on her throne, a fist propping her cheek up, she scanned her eyes over a letter.

She had longed decided what fate meant to her. It didn’t exist like she thought it did, and she had come to terms with that. She took her fate and accepted it for whatever it would be, much like Klaus did once. She had been prepared to be either the Empress or the Special Inquisitor, but since the latter had been occupied by Brighid, Mòrag only had to worry about the former.

It was peaceful. Uraya kept its nose clean and the council had signed an agreement of peace for the foreseeable future. They were busy in repairing their damaged country, as well as feeding its starving civilians. Fancy people going hungry in a land ripe with food. That just _proved_ how evil Graull was. Gormott had renounced its alliance on good terms with Mor Ardain, and Mòrag kept in regular contact with Chancellor Llewellyn. He had become quite the good friend now that there was no war to worry about, and this job required her to have as many allies as possible. 

Tantal, as usual, kept to themselves and that was fine. Zeke had recently gone home to help out his father with some business, yet not without a dramatic departure. As for the others, they all ended up going their separate ways. Niall had stuck by his word and had begun his travels, accompanied by a full squadron of soldiers, of course. Her mother went back home with big kisses and a promise to visit often. Nia and Dromarch went back to look at a permanent residence in Gormott, while Tora and Poppi returned to the scattered islands of Leftheria with Rex and his blades. It hurt to see them go again, but it wasn’t as if they were unreachable. Mòrag still sent personal letters once a week, and in turn, would receive them. 

As she read through the latest one, handwritten by Pyra, she smiled.

_We’re all doing wonderfully here. I can only hope the same goes for yourself, and for your country. Please do take the time to heal after all you’ve gone through, Mòrag. We love and miss you._

_Signed, Pyra, Mythra and Rex._

Rex had scrawled a smiley face next to his name. 

The Special Inquisitor approached, blue flames alight, and stood before her throne. Mòrag looked up from the letter.

“Is all well?” Brighid asked. 

“Indeed. I was just reading a letter from Pyra. I am happy to announce that they’re fine.”

“And yourself?”

Mòrag knew she was referring to her mental health. She still had to take her medication, and Mòrag attended specialist counselling every Friday, though it helped. She had a ways to go but it was coming along nicely even after the hell Graull had put her through.

“I am on the road to recovery, Brighid. I have never been more comfortable in my role in life as I am now. I have no fears about the future or myself, and neither should you.”

It was said kindly. The blade bowed. 

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy fuck, it's actually done. i somehow managed to finish a 30 chapter fic and didn't give up half way through. my hand is cramping and its 7am. i'm seriously shocked right now, but enough of that, i just want to say thank you SO much to everyone who has stuck with this fic since the beginning and also the ones who are still new to it. i appreciate the time you took to read it, despite me being an amateur hobbyist writer, and leave kudos and comments! it was hard work, and there were lots of times this fic just didn't want to be written, but it's done now and i can safely say i feel like a million bucks. i always wanted to see this ending for morag and i'm glad i could write it myself. xenoblade chronicles 2 is a great game, but didn't do morag enough justice for being the amazing character she is. never in a million years did i picture myself finishing this when i first thought up the concept back in march, so this is wild.
> 
> here is the song that inspired the title: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e0-cejhqJ1g
> 
> i'll miss writing this, but i'm glad it's finished. it's been a very long and frustrating ride and thanks for reading!!! and please, if you're just finding this, don't hesitate to leave a comment. i appreciate all of them. see you next time everyone!! - corvusam


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